


line of sight

by peachsneakers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's really AU, Overdose, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Harry Potter, Suicide Attempt, potions overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Isn't it a bad enough punishment that he lived?





	1. angel's trumpet

Harry had never been a Potions prodigy.

Perhaps that was what made it so ironic, considering what _this_ particular potion would be used for. He snorted at his own melodrama as he squatted on his heels, peering at the lavender smoke wafting from his purloined cauldron and waiting for the next step. He had set up a makeshift Potions laboratory in an abandoned classroom, covering it with as many wards as he could think of.  _This_ potion could not be discovered.

It was called the Angel's Trumpet Draught and it took Harry three breathless trips to the Restricted Section under his cloak to retrieve the recipe. As long as he didn't muck it up... A slight smile touched his mouth as he stirred the concoction three times counter-clockwise, holding his breath. The colour shifted to a pale pink and he heaved a relieved sigh. He consulted the recipe to make sure, though he already knew the answer. It was perfect.

 _Perhaps this is all I need to succeed in Potions,_ Harry thought with grim humour as he extinguished the fire under the cauldron and bottled up the potion within. He had several spare vials that he intended to secrete around the castle, placed under a ward that ensured only he could see it. He didn't want anyone else to become curious and quaff it, after all. He was suicidal, not Dark. Not like Voldemort.

The draught became a siren song as he cleaned up, ensuring the classroom was pristine, no incriminating ingredients left behind. He wasn't stupid. The professors could break through his wards if they wanted to. They would find nothing but a tiny, clandestine potions lab and assume it was for nothing more sinister than a prank potion or two.

 _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself, fingering the last vial in his pocket. It would be particularly satisfying to down it in the middle of Potions. The Angel's Trumpet Draught worked quickly. Snape wasn't  _that_ good.

 _How will he feel?_ Harry wondered.  _A student's death on his conscience... Then again, it's_ me _. No, he won't give a fuck_ , he decided as he passed Hermione and Ron in the common room, sparing a smile and mouthing his apologies as he slipped up to bed, toeing off his shoes and spelling shut his curtains.

Snape would never give a damn about him. That much was obvious. Despite the man's low opinion of him, Harry wasn't an idiot. He  _also_ wasn't his father and Snape didn't seem to understand that at all. Harry couldn't even  _remember_ the man. Did that matter? He snorted, punching his pillow. Of course it didn't.

McGonagall had already proved that she didn't care. She hadn't listened in first year and Voldemort had nearly stolen the Philosopher's Stone. She never listened when he pleaded to stay for the summer. Just a pat on the head and telling him that he  _had_ to go back.

Well, not anymore. Unless they planned to ship off a corpse. Harry had to laugh at that. He could just imagine the look on Aunt Petunia's face when she realised her freaky nephew was dead. After the initial shock and disgust, the Dursleys would probably throw a party.  _Ding dong, the witch is dead..._ Or in this case, it would be the wizard.

Harry sighed, returning to his mental iteration. The Headmaster  _couldn't_ care about him. Dumbledore had left him with the Dursleys. Left a  _baby_ on their doorstep, like he was a milk delivery or a newspaper. It was a wonder he hadn't been snatched off the street. Perhaps he'd have a better life if he had.

Oh, he supposed Uncle Vernon could be  _worse_. He could  _deliberately_ break bones, instead of accidentally when he went too far. He could hit Harry's face, where it would be easily seen. He could damage Harry's internal organs (although Harry was fairly sure there was something wrong with at least a few of them, anyway). And Aunt Petunia only got him with the frying pan if he dodged too slow. So really, one could say that he  _deserved_ that. By this point, Harry Hunting had dwindled, as he could nearly always outrun Dudley and his gang.

On the other hand, at school, he had Malfoy. He had all of Slytherin, really, that bayed for his blood. Just last year, the entire school, just about, thought he was the heir to Slytherin and that he was letting loose a giant monster to murder the Muggleborns. Never mind Hermione was one of his best friends. That had just fed into the speculation, especially when she was Petrified. It still gave him chills, realising just how close she'd come to death. If she hadn't convinced Penelope Clearwater to look around corners with a mirror...

Harry curled in on his side. He didn't want to think about that. That didn't matter anymore. His friends were great, the ones who stuck by him, but it didn't matter. He'd try not to take it in front of Hermione and Ron. Or Neville. Neville was shaky enough, he didn't need to see Harry die.

Soothed into relative calmness, Harry drifted off into a thin, uneasy sleep.

He couldn't eat at breakfast. Under Hermione's anxious eyes, he managed half a slice of toast, fobbing her off with excuses that he just hadn't slept well. She peered into his eyes and he held his breath, hoping that she couldn't see the truth.

"Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey," she said doubtfully. Harry forced nonchalance into his voice, lounging with deliberate casualness on the bench.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he told her. "I'll just eat more at lunch, okay?"

"At least take a piece of fruit with you," she said, mollified. "You can eat it between classes."

Potions was their first class of the day. There would be no chance for a snack.

He tucked an apple into his bookbag anyway, basking in her approving smile and Ron's hearty grin. He would miss them, he thought with a pang.

But they had each other. They would be all right. 

He had no one.

He walked to Potions like he was in a daze. He barely glanced at the potion inscribed on the chalkboard, content to let Ron go and retrieve the ingredients. The bottle of Angel's Trumpet Draught seemed to burn against his leg.

"You will pay attention in my class," Snape hissed, snapping him to attention. "Ten points from Gryffindor." A hot flare of anger curled through Harry's stomach before he sighed, the cool fog of apathy blanketing every emotion once again. Whatever. He wouldn't lose any more points, unless Snape decided to deduct points for Harry having the audacity to die on his floor. The thought nearly surprised a giggle from him, though he clamped his lips shut.

"Git," Ron muttered in a low voice, as he savagely diced his ginger. Harry didn't have the heart to tell him he was virtually pulping them.

Snape had no such compunction, sweeping up and telling Ron in clipped tones that his prep work was appalling, start again, before Vanishing the whole mess.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ron whispered as he settled on the bench with a new batch of ingredients. Harry nodded.

"Just tired," he lied.

Surprisingly, no one threw anything in their cauldron this time, but Harry could already tell they had failed. It looked like green sludge.

"Atrocious," Snape pronounced when he got to their cauldron.

In the crowd of people leaving, Harry managed to lose Ron and Hermione, slipping to the back of the pack. He looked over his shoulder to see Snape's back to him, inspecting someone's desk.

 _Good_ , he thought viciously. As the last students emptied out of the room, he pulled the vial of Angel's Trumpet Draught from his pocket and tipped it down his throat. It tasted sharp, like bitter lemons and burnt ashes, flooding his system.

As he collapsed to the floor, he heard a faint shout of alarm.

Then everything faded into blackness.


	2. a bitter pill to swallow

Bitterness flooded Harry's mouth and he coughed. His lungs burned. The smell of ginger and sandalwood enclosed him as he was turned on his back, a handkerchief dabbed over his mouth.

"Foolish boy," a dark voice muttered above him. Disappointment swallowed him alive. How had he lived? He'd followed the instructions  _perfectly_ , he knew he had, so what-

"You imbibed more than the recommended dosage," the voice said, as if its owner had divined his confusion. "The Angel's Trumpet Draught is perhaps unique in that respect. If you overdose on it, you  _live_." The icy voice was familiar, though Harry couldn't place it just yet as he was levitated up and placed on what felt like a stretcher.

"Unfortunately for you, recovery will still be wholly unpleasant," the voice sneered. Recognition slammed into Harry and he started coughing again, spluttering hopelessly on his own spit and remnants of the potion.  _Snape._ Oh,  _fuck_.

 _Well, you did choose to poison yourself in his classroom,_ his mind helpfully reminded him as his Potions professor moved him. He didn't dare open his eyes, afraid to meet the disgust probably written all over the man's face. Probably for failing. Clearly, he should have read the recipe a little harder, to ensure that he didn't drink  _more_. Who would have thought he would manage to pick the one poison that ensured life if you  _over_ indulged?

"You are in my living room, Potter," Snape informed him a few moments later. He felt himself levitated off the stretcher and placed on some kind of sofa. The cushions felt luxuriously soft under his body. It felt like he'd gone ten rounds with the basilisk. His whole body ached and the scar where the basilisk's fang had pierced him throbbed especially acutely. 

"I cannot transport you to the Hospital Wing just yet," Snape said. "You are unfit to go by Floo and I  _assume_ you do not wish your little... _mishap_ to be broadcast through all of Hogwarts?" The man's tone was positively acid and Harry flushed, weakly shaking his head.

"Good," Snape said, settling on what sounded like a nearby chair. "Now, you will answer all my questions to my satisfaction or you can explain to the Headmaster. Which do you prefer?"

"You, sir," Harry croaked. The thought of explaining what he'd done to Dumbledore filled him with cold horror. At least he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Snape despised him. He wasn't sure the same could be said for the Headmaster.

"How did you get the Angel's Trumpet Draught?" Snape asked.

"I brewed it," Harry admitted. Snape made a hissing sound of disbelief.

"Tell me the truth, Potter," he demanded. "You're barely a third year, that's sixth year material at least-"

"I brewed it," Harry insisted, his head throbbing. His scar felt alive with pain. "I got the recipe out of the library. I- I brewed it in an empty classroom."

"You will show me this classroom when you are well enough," Snape said. He sounded very much like he still didn't believe Harry, which irked him. When he wasn't being constantly sabotaged and yelled at, he wasn't  _that_ bad in Potions.

"Was that all you have?" Snape asked next. Harry's heart leaped into his throat as he recalled how many doses he'd scattered, hidden, all over the school.  _Just in case._  

"I-" He stalled. His lips felt very dry.

"Well?" Snape asked impatiently.

"No," Harry whispered. Snape didn't say anything, so he hurried on. "I- I made a whole cauldron and erm- it's... I hid it all over the school," he confessed, shame-faced.

"Do you know what it could do if another student gets a hold of it and no one is near to administer the proper antidote?" Snape hissed, suddenly blazingly angry. Harry could sense the man had stood up and he cringed into the sofa, one hand automatically coming up to shield his face.

"I warded them all," Harry said desperately. "So only I could see- I swear, I wouldn't just-"

"You will also be retrieving every single vial when you are well," Snape said icily. Harry heard him sit back down, rearranging his robes. "How long have you felt this way?"

"Erm, what way?" Harry asked, trying to play dumb.

"Like you want to off yourself, what way do you think?" Snape snapped.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "I guess... A while."

"Did you tell anyone?"

Harry laughed, bitter.

"Who would I tell?" He asked. "My relatives would probably tie the noose and pour me a glass of drain cleaner. I love Hermione and Ron, but what can they do? They're my age. You hate me. McGonagall doesn't listen to me and never has. Dumbledore-" He stopped, his chest hurting. "Dumbledore doesn't care, either," he finished softly.

"The Headmaster loves you," Snape said. He sounded discomfited.

"Well, he sure didn't show it," Harry mumbled.

"And what do you mean by that?" Snape asked dangerously. Harry shrugged as best as he could.

"He put me with my aunt," Harry said. "She hates magic. Ergo, she hates me. Did you think I was joking about the noose? Uncle Vernon would be all too happy after-" He stopped, pressing his lips tightly together.

"After what, Potter?" Snape asked. He almost sounded...gentle.

"This summer," Harry muttered. "I erm- blew up my aunt Marge. Like a balloon. It was accidental magic, but-" His throat tightened. "I don't think it would have been good if I'd had to stay there."

"Where did you stay, Potter?" Snape questioned.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry said. "Tom's really nice. And I got to do all my summer homework. I never get to at the Dursleys."

"I suppose that would explain why all your homework looks like you just wrote it on the train," Snape murmured. Harry's jaw nearly dropped. Was the man trying to make a  _joke_?

"I need to examine your lungs now, Potter," Snape said, all business. "The Angel's Trumpet Draught has a particularly nasty effect on the respiratory system."

He coaxed Harry to lean against the arm of the sofa. A warm tingle spread through his body, fizzling through his toes.

"Open your eyes, Potter," Snape said in exasperation. "I need to check them, too, while I'm at it."

Tentatively, Harry opened his eyes. Professor Snape sat on a rolling stool much like the one he'd seen at Dudley's paediatrician. He shone a light from the tip of his wand into Harry's eyes, one at a time, nodding in approval at whatever he saw.

Looking around, Snape's living room was nothing like he'd expected. He'd thought it would be cold and slimy and full of green. Instead, the dominant tones were cream, brown, and a muted blue. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was an enormous fireplace. A glass-inlaid coffee table rested in front of the sofa he lay on, and he could see multiple upholstered recliners, as well as a cozy reading nook, complete with tiny, polished tea table.

"Back to our questions, Potter," Snape said, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "I'm not done."

"Okay, sir," Harry said, sighing. He wished he had something to wash out his mouth. It tasted vile.

"Have you ever hurt yourself in the past?"


	3. unwitting confidences

Harry swallowed, his heart thumping wildly. The faded scars and scratches on his arms and upper thighs seemed to burn with the incipient onslaught of discovery.

"I haven't tried to off myself before, if that's what you mean," he said carefully.

"It's not," Snape said, his tone brusque.  _Of course not,_ Harry thought sourly.  _That would be too easy._ "I meant what I said, Potter. Have you ever hurt yourself before?"

"Why do  _you_ care?" Harry challenged. "You've never cared before. Malfoy tries to blow up my cauldron at least once a week and all I get is detention or another zero for the day. Even when my bloody cauldron  _blew up_. Is it just what you're supposed to ask when you're the one unlucky enough to get stuck with someone stupid like me, who couldn't even get dying right? Because if that's all it is, then you don't have to ask me any more, just say what you wanna say and put me in the Hospital Wing. I don't care." 

He felt hot tears burn his eyes, a direct contradiction to his previous statement, but he refused to let them fall. He was just relieved he hadn't told Snape to fuck off.  _Yet._

"Just because I do not discipline my Slytherins in public does not mean they face no discipline," Snape said in a deadly soft voice. "And kindly do not refer to yourself and other suicide survivors as 'stupid.' Someone  _stupid_ would not have been able to brew the Angel's Trumpet Draught in the first place."

"Oh," Harry said, bewildered. "But-"

"And regardless of how I have felt about your rule-breaking and your bloody father, I still care about  _all_ of my students' well-being," Snape continued. "If you didn't want to be saved, then you would not have imbibed it in my classroom."

 _I wanted you to feel bad, you bloody arsehole,_ Harry thought, but didn't have the guts to say. He didn't think that would be a good idea. Besides...

Maybe the git was right, in some very small way. Minuscule, really.

"And Potter?" Snape said. Harry looked up at him apprehensively. "Your response has only answered my speculation. How have you harmed yourself in the past?"

 _Damn it,_ Harry thought.

"Scratching myself sometimes," he said evasively, trying to make it sound like a rare occurrence. The look on Snape's face quickly disabused him of the notion that his professor believed him in any way.

"Do you have scars?" Snape asked. Harry became so stiff, it was like he had been hit with a Full Body Bind. No. He was  _not_ showing Snape any scars he might have inflicted on himself. He'd rather fling himself off the Astronomy Tower.

...Maybe that would have been a better plan. But he'd had irrational fears of surviving the fall and instead ending up mangled. 

"Fine," Snape said, when it became clear Harry wouldn't comply. "Here."

Harry took the vial that Snape handed him suspiciously, sniffing at the apple green liquid that sloshed within. It smelled vaguely of honeysuckle.

"It is another antidote," Snape explained. "You need multiple doses to ensure no lingering consequences, Potter. I assure you, if I wanted to poison you, I would have by now."

Flushing, Harry lifted the vial to his mouth. It tasted like flowers, not wholly unpleasant. Like a  trickle of ice, it slid down his throat all the way to his stomach, provoking a bone-deep shudder.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, pretending a gratitude he couldn't make himself feel. Lassitude spread through his bones, making him slide down into the sofa.

"Sleep, Potter," Snape said, conjuring a blanket and letting it settle over him.

"But-" He tried to protest. Before he could hear any of Snape's rebuttal, sleep washed over him, carrying him down.


	4. past his parentage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape's pov :)

Severus frowned as he looked down at the sleeping boy, worn frail and thin by the poison still working in his system. He sent an extra sleep spell toward Potter to be certain the boy would not wake up any time soon. He had Floo calls to make, and a Gryffindor Head of House to soothe, and he could not do that with the worry of Potter's incipient arousal from sleep hanging over his head like the proverbial sword of Damocles. At least Minerva would be understanding about her pupil's absence when she heard. It was not the first time one of the professors had dealt with a suicidal student, nor would it (unfortunately) be the last.

Severus had a feeling Potter would curse the day he decided to down the Angel's Trumpet Draught in Potions. Hogwarts rule stated that the suicidal student would become the nearest professor's responsibility. As the one who had been literally feet away, Severus had now drawn the short straw. If it weren't for the circumstances, Severus might even find a bit of grim humour in the situation, being so thoroughly in charge of Potter's affairs.

Quidditch would be banned, naturally. A student courting death could not be allowed to chance doing so on a broom. It was difficult enough, protecting the bloody beasts when they insisted in smashing into each other on the pitch and performing ridiculous, gravity-defying stunts. Potter would perhaps howl at the restriction (and if that were the case, Severus would  _almost_ be pleased, to see the boy's insolence putting in an appearance).

Classes would be limited. In this, he would have more freedom. Depressed students needed something to focus on, and without classes to return to, they tended to sink further into the mire of their own thoughts. But all of his professors would have to be notified. Even that blasted werewolf, Severus thought irritably. If he so much as  _thought_ that Severus had anything to do with the boy's attempt-

The most chafing restriction would be this, Severus thought, idly tucking in the blanket closer around Potter's slumbering form and setting the boy's glasses on an end table so he would not accidentally break them if he tossed and turned. It was unlikely, with the antidote working out the last strains of poison, but he'd seen it before. Potter would wake up in unimaginable pain in a few hours and there wasn't a damn thing Severus would be able to do about it, save perhaps a mild pain relieving spell. Potions only interacted badly with the Angel's Trumpet Draught.

But that would pass. And then, Potter would discover what it meant to be put on watch. Line of sight. He had to remain in line of sight of one of his professors at all time, preferably Severus. He would have to sleep in Severus's quarters for a period of at least two weeks, while he saw a Mind Healer (probably Poppy, given Harry's status as the Boy Who Lived). Severus hated that epithet but he knew fame-hungry Healers wouldn't spare more than a thought at fulfilling their oaths if it meant they could turn it to profit. He would eat in Severus's quarters, so Severus could be sure he had not tried to poison his own food. In the past, this was merely a formality, but Severus dared not treat this case as such, not when Potter had already proven himself so proficient in brewing the Angel's Trumpet Draught.

He desperately didn't want to believe it, but he could tell in the passioned fervour that lit the boy's face that Potter wasn't lying. He had brewed it himself. Granger would never have assisted with Potter's own suicide without warning someone. He had been able to tell that she was worried about Potter in recent weeks, but nothing that signaled the girl was worried about something as drastic as  _this_.

_You are not as I imagined you to be,_ Severus forced himself to admit, staring down at the pinched, pallid features. Without his glasses, he could see that Potter's bone structure was more akin to Lily's. It was really the untidy hair and the round-framed glasses that made him look so much like James. Severus wanted to believe the boy behaved like his father, but really-

Potter's comments about his family came to mind and Severus frowned harder. He would need to explore that line of thought when he had more time and Potter's condition was not so physically fraught. Albus had always assured them- assured  _everyone_ \- that Potter was well cared for. Had Potter slipped through the cracks in the Headmaster's perpetually increasing stack of responsibilities?

Potter drew his attention with a slight wheeze of breath and he pressed the tip of his wand to the boy's chest, soothing his lungs. He needed Poppy. She had more experience in Healing than he did. It took no pride to admit that.

Turning to the fireplace (yet keeping a leery eye out for Potter), Severus threw a handful of green powder in.

"The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts," he declared.

Moments later, a breathless Poppy showed up, white cap slightly askew on her head.

"What is it, Severus?" She asked.

"I need you to come through," he said stiffly. "It is an emergency." He put a slight, subtle emphasis on the word 'emergency' and her eyes widened in understanding.

"I'll get my kit," she said and disappeared from the flames.

She stepped through a few minutes later, carrying a stout medical bag, crammed full of paraphernalia that she usually used in cases of botched suicide attempts. Her eyes went very wide when she saw the slight figure sprawled on Severus's sofa.

"What happened?" She whispered, starting her diagnostics with a shaky hand.

"Angel's Trumpet Draught," he said succinctly. She sucked in a breath. She knew what that particular poison meant. Potter wasn't the first student who had thought of it. "Brewed correctly. He imbibed too much, however. An overdose, in my classroom. It allowed me enough time to force the antidote down his throat and bring him here. I've given him two doses of it now, checked his lungs, put him into a deeper sleep, and tried to soothe his respiration as he had started to develop a wheeze."

"Thank you, Severus," Poppy said absently, eyes moving over the diagnostic parchment she'd already generated. "That matches with what I've got here. His system looks all right, for the most part. His lungs are weak, but you knew that. Did you know he's malnourished?"

"...No," Severus said after a pause. Potter's words echoed in his mind.  _...My relatives would probably tie the noose and pour me a glass of drain cleaner..._ If there were any truth at all to Potter's words, would it be so shocking that they didn't feed him properly?

"He also has a few bones that have healed improperly," Poppy went on. "I regret not doing a full diagnostic on him sooner, but I had no permission-"

"You do now," Severus interrupted. "As the staff member closest, he's currently my responsibility. I give you full permission to do whatever is needed for Potter to become well again."

"Thank you, Severus," Poppy said. Her eyes shone and it made Severus's stomach knot up. It was only what he performed for any child who fell under the restrictions. That was all.

But why did it have to be  _this_ one?


	5. unpleasant truths

Pain dragged him from the vestiges of sleep, clawing at his stomach, his throat, his head. Harry curled into a defensive ball, tears seeping down both cheeks.

"Harry?" The soft voice of Madam Pomfrey pierced through the haze of agony lashing his nerve endings. "Harry, this will pass soon, it's from the poison you took. Do you think you can take the antidote now?" Harry thought of even the simple act of letting the potion dribble down his throat, and shook his head violently. 

"Here," she murmured something and a soft tingle ran through him, easing the pain a little. "What about now?"

"I'll try," he croaked. She slipped one arm under his shoulders, propping him up as she lifted the potion vial to his mouth. In dribs and drabs, the antidote found its way into his system. By the time the vial was empty, he was exhausted, bowed and crumpled under the onslaught of pain, and whatever Madam Pomfrey had done was starting to wear off.

"It hurts," he whimpered, feeling utterly pathetic as the Mediwitch carded her fingers through his sweaty, rumpled hair, unsticking it from his clammy forehead.

"That's what happens when you take the Angel's Trumpet Draught, Potter," Snape said harshly. Without his glasses, Harry couldn't see the man, but he glared belligerently out into the open room anyway.

"Severus, be gentle," Madam Pomfrey admonished. "You know this is difficult enough for him."

"Poppy was right, Potter," Snape said quietly. "It should pass soon."

It was a long half hour before the pain finally subsided, leaving as quickly as it had come. Harry panted weakly on the couch, feeling like he'd gone a round with a mountain troll and lost.

"Do you feel better, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry heard a creak as the man resumed his chair.

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly. Metal bumped his hand and he realised his professor had handed him his glasses. Quickly hooking them on, he looked around the room. Snape sat on the stool Harry had seen earlier, while Madam Pomfrey now occupied one of the armchairs. His throat burned when he saw the sympathetic look in her eyes.

"The worst is over," Snape told him. "You may have another episode of pain tonight, but it will not last as long as this one, or be as severe. You may experience nausea. If you start to wheeze or in any way feel like your breathing is restricted, you must tell me at once. It means that you need another dose of the antidote. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. His hands clenched in his lap. The thought of not being able to breathe frightened him.  _You're pathetic,_ his mind taunted him.  _You wanted to die and now you're complaining about a little thing like breathing?_

"Madam Pomfrey will check in on regular intervals," Snape continued. "She and I have agreed that you are stable enough that you do not need to spend time in the Hospital Wing itself."

"So erm- what happens then?" Harry asked, scratching the side of his nose. "Can I go back to my dorm or-"

"No," Snape said. "Poppy, perhaps it would be best if you explained it to him..."

"Harry, the staff at Hogwarts have policies in place to deal with a student attempting suicide," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "One of those policies is that you become the responsibility of whatever staff member was closest." Harry lifted a suddenly horrified gaze to stare at his professor, whose mouth twisted in a sour grimace. Clearly Snape wasn't happy about it either.

"That means you are currently Professor Snape's responsibility," Madam Pomfrey confirmed. "There are several other restrictions that come into play. You are not allowed to return to your dorm. You will be staying here, in Professor Snape's quarters."

"What?" Harry spluttered. "That's- that's ridiculous, how am I supposed to feel  _better_ here-"

"You will also take meals privately with Professor Snape," the Mediwitch continued, talking over his protests. "You are allowed to attend classes, but you must be accompanied by a member of staff at all times. You may be excused from certain classes, either the class as a whole or certain subjects. You are not allowed to play Quidditch-"

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, then caught the seething look on Snape's face, and promptly shut it. It didn't sound like anything he said would make the slightest bit of difference, anyway.

"You will also attend Mind Healing sessions with me," Madam Pomfrey said, attempting a smile. Harry just stared at her.

"Anything else?" Harry asked flatly. Madam Pomfrey looked down at her lap, hesitating. Snape spoke for her.

"You have to remain in line of sight of a staff member at all times, Potter," Snape said. "At all times."

"Even when I have to-" Harry broke off, horrified. A grim look entered Snape's eyes.

"Even then, Potter," Snape confirmed. Harry suddenly found himself wishing, yet again, that the Angel's Trumpet Draught had actually bloody  _worked_. At least then he'd be in the afterlife, whatever it was, not in the torturous presence of his least favourite professor, who despised him. Unless this  _was_ the afterlife and the fates had divined a particularly cruel punishment.

"How long?" Harry asked dully. Madam Pomfrey and Snape exchanged looks.

"The customary time period is two weeks," Madam Pomfrey answered. "It may be extended, depending on your rate of healing."

"Can I see my friends, at least?" Harry asked. Surprisingly, Snape answered.

"Yes, Potter," he said. "But it must be down here and if they start to upset you, then they will be asked to leave."

"They must be so worried," he mumbled, his stomach cramping.

"I spoke with Professor McGonagall about the situation and asked her to pass along the message that you were all right," Snape said. "They likely still think I've secreted you somewhere to turn into Potions ingredients, but I'm sure you'll tell them otherwise tomorrow."

"I can see them tomorrow?" Harry asked.

"If you wish," Snape said. "You are excused from classes tomorrow, in order to monitor you, but if they wish to visit after class, I have no objection as long as they are quiet."

"Thank you, professor," Harry said, biting his bottom lip. Snape inclined his head, something glittering in his dark eyes.

"You're welcome, Potter," he said. "Now. You are not spending the night on the sofa. Stand up."


	6. creating routines

Thankfully, Snape didn't expect Harry to stay in his bedroom. Harry didn't know what he would have said if that was the case, but it wouldn't be pleasant. Instead, Snape told him with a sneer, he would be staying in the guest bedroom across the hall. While he had slept on the couch, Snape and Madam Pomfrey had layered it with a multitude of spells to prevent him from harming himself in any way. His movement was also restricted- he couldn't leave the room without Snape's permission. Harry flushed angrily.

"But what if I have to- you know-" He said. Snape arched an eyebrow at him.

"You will have to ask me, Potter," he said. "I have charmed it so you may merely speak my name and it will awaken me." Harry's face burned at the humiliation and prayed the ground would open up and swallow him. The darkness that had enveloped his mind since the summer had been shoved away by the sheer ignominy of having to live with  _Snape_ , of all people.

Perhaps that was the point.

In any case, he found himself dressed in new pyjamas that Madam Pomfrey handed him (as if he had anything hiding in his usual pair!) and summarily put to bed, like some kind of wayward child. A nightlight had been left on, painting the room in a soft amber glow. He felt like a little kid, seeing it, but he couldn't help but admit that he wouldn't have minded something similar for his cupboard. He'd been scared of the dark when he was very young. It was why the Dursleys had seen the cupboard under the stairs as such an appropriate punishment.

As he lay in the surprisingly comfortable guest bed, his thoughts raced over the events of the day. He was painfully aware that he had said too much about the Dursleys. All he could hope was that Snape hadn't paid much attention and decided not to pry. On the one hand, the man despised him. On the other hand, he wasn't an idiot. Of  _course_ he would follow up.

 _And then there's Ron and Hermione,_ he thought, and winced. He hoped they hadn't seen him crumple to the floor. He hadn't heard anyone else when he came to on the floor of the Potions classroom, but that didn't mean that was true. If they had seen him, he hoped someone had informed them at least that he wouldn't be sleeping in Gryffindor for the time being.

He wanted to ask Snape, but gave it up as a bad job. Snape would probably be irritable about being disturbed, for all that he could see a lamp on in the man's room. The guest room's door had been taken off its hinges, so he had no chance of closing himself in. Another indignity.

Despite Harry's bone-deep exhaustion, it took him a very long time to fall asleep.

"Wake up, Potter," a voice said sharply. Harry mumbled something into his pillow, only to have his shoulder firmly tapped. "Wake up. You need breakfast." He blearily opened his eyes, to see a dark, human-shaped blob leaning over him. He jerked away before he realised it was only Professor Snape.

"Here," Snape said, sounding annoyed as he shoved Harry's glasses into his hands. "Get up and get dressed." Harry looked at the man in dismay as he stood there, arms folded.

"You're going to  _watch_ me?" He squeaked.

"Were you or were you not paying attention at all last night?" Snape demanded. "Line of  _sight_ , Potter. It is a privilege that you do not have to sleep on a cot in my room at the moment and if I were you, I would endeavour to keep it that way." Harry reddened, running a hand through sleep-rumpled hair. It felt like he hadn't slept at all and a herd of unicorns had trampled him in what little sleep he'd fallen into.

"Those aren't my clothes," Harry said, staring in surprise at the clothes folded neatly on the end of his bed.

"They will suffice for now," Snape said. "Standard issue for students in your...position." He looked like he wanted to say something else, something scathing, but then remembered what said position  _was_. Harry swallowed.

"Is it- is it that common then?" He asked hesitantly.

"Common enough," Snape said. "Because others have secreted dangerous items on their person in the form of their regular clothing in the past, the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey decided that it would be best for students to all wear the same thing, so no outside items can easily be brought in."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised the man had given him that much of an explanation. "Are there- are there any others? Erm, right now, I mean?" He added quickly.

"I'm not telling you their names, Potter," Snape sneered. Harry gritted his teeth.

"I didn't want names, sir," he said, once he could give a faintly respectful reply.

"There are two," Snape said, surprising him again. "You wouldn't know them."

"What happens if you're the professor who's around more than one student at the same time?" Harry asked curiously.

"I would delegate care of one of them to someone else who was free," Snape said. "And stop stalling, Potter. Breakfast will grow cold."

Reluctantly, Harry slid out of bed, tentatively looking Snape's direction. He looked like he was focusing on a point just above Harry's head. He still changed in record time, making sure to fold up his pyjamas and pull up the blankets. He thought Snape looked surprised at the last.

"Come," Snape said, starting for the door. Harry stopped, his whole face going bright red.

"Erm, I need to-" He trailed off into a useless mumble.

"This way," Snape said. The bathroom was next to the guest bedroom, spotless white tile and fluffy green towels. Harry gave Snape a pleading look, receiving only impassivity in return.

"Come on," he said, frustrated. Snape reached out, turning on the tap.

"That is the only concession you're getting," he said blandly. He seemed to be focusing on that spot above Harry's head again, but it was only marginally tolerable and it took Harry longer than he expected to actually be able to  _go_. Embarrassment burnt him like a grass fire.

"Wash your hands better than that," Snape said. Biting back something that would only get him in trouble, Harry did so. "Better," Snape told him, then led the way to the kitchen.

Breakfast sat on the table, but Harry noticed at once the warming charms on the plates and shot Snape an irritated look under his lashes. Snape looked utterly unrepentant.

"Eat," he told him. "I told the house elves to get you something fulfilling, yet easy on the stomach." Harry looked down at his bowl of oatmeal, drizzled with honey and topped with fruit, and nodded, taking a testing bite.

"You look thin," Snape commented, as casually as if he were remarking on the weather. Harry stiffened, not believing it for one second.

"I guess," he said, stirring his oatmeal. Snape sighed and fished in his robes for a potion, handing it over. Harry took it dubiously, looking at the frothy pale blue potion inside.

"It's an appetite stimulant," Snape said. "You need to eat. And one of the side effects of the Angel's Trumpet Draught is decreased appetite. You're bony enough as it is, I'm sure the Headmaster will be displeased if it appears I've been starving you." Harry choked on a laugh at Snape's acerbic tones. Oddly, it helped him pull out the cork and down the stimulant. It tasted surprisingly pleasant and in a few minutes, he attacked his oatmeal with more gusto.

"You will be remaining in these rooms today," Snape said. "I have taken the day off." Harry goggled at him.

"But- others will notice," he said feebly.

"If they do, it can simply be chalked up to a potions mishap," Snape said, inclining his head. "Which- in a way- it is."

"Oh," Harry said, staring down at his half-finished oatmeal.

"You are not allowed to do schoolwork today," Snape said, surprising him. "But you may read. I have a library in my study." Harry suppressed a sigh. Would it be all stodgy Potions tomes then? Or books on the Dark Arts? Not that Snape would let him read about  _those_. 

"Madam Pomfrey will also be visiting before lunch to run another scan on your health," Snape continued. "Have you experienced any respiratory difficulties?"

"No, sir," Harry said, shaking his head for good measure. He thought a faint smile flitted across his professor's features.

"Good," Snape said. "Now finish your breakfast."


	7. a surprising secret

To Harry's surprise, the promised library was  _not_ all tedious treatises on Potions (or Dark Arts, he noticed with slight disappointment). There were several shelves populated with all sorts of subjects, novels, and even some  _Muggle_ literature. Harry hadn't expected that at all.

"You will sit," Snape told him, indicating a large, upholstered armchair. It looked as cosy as the chairs in Gryffindor's common room. "I have grading to get on with, so I would  _prefer_ that you be quiet. If you misbehave, you will regret it."

"How?" Harry asked, feeling petulant. He instantly regretted it when he saw Snape's eyes darken.

"Writing lines," the man replied. Harry felt a  _little_ better about it then. Not that he  _wanted_ to write lines, but he'd been afraid that Snape would-

Would what? He chastised himself. The professors couldn't administer corporal punishment. Or torture him. He'd heard Filch bemoan that fact often enough (and he couldn't thank Dumbledore more for putting a stop to that barbaric practise). Even if he had to scrub cauldrons or something, he'd done that before. He was the Dursleys' house elf. Snape couldn't put him to chopping up ingredients. He might use the knife for something else.

So what was he so afraid about? That Snape would leave? Drop him off with someone else? If anything, that thought should  _relieve_ him.

 _He saved your life,_ a tiny thought in his mind whispered.  _He could have left you to die._

And he could have, Harry had to acknowledge that. He plucked a book off a shelf at random and opened it to the first page, though he couldn't concentrate. Why  _had_ Snape saved him? Did he just feel like it was his duty? He could have pretended that Harry had taken the correct dose, that there was nothing more to be done. A tragic death, or some such rot. Harry hadn't heard of many suicides at school- they always hushed it up- but he knew they had  _happened_. At the beginning of term, a seventh year Hufflepuff had been found dead outside. The official ruling was an accidental drowning, but Harry had heard whispers that she walked into the Black Lake and let the water swallow her whole. That her dorm mates had already brought their concerns to Professor Sprout, but they were just a hair too late.

And he'd noticed, too, that sometimes people just...disappeared for a while, and no one seemed to be concerned. Were those people also on restrictions, like he was? He supposed he should be grateful that he  _would_ be allowed to go to classes. He couldn't imagine what it would be like otherwise, trapped with Snape for at least two weeks.

"Read, Potter," Snape's voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up and saw Snape staring at him. There was an odd, scrutinising look on his face, making Harry flush and turn away, ostentatiously burying his nose in his chosen book. Snape paused and then Harry heard the scratching of a quill resume.

Despite how careless his choice had been, the book actually  _was_ rather interesting, about a Charms creator who made up loads of different new spells and the troubles they had with fixing the ones that went awry. Harry supposed it was supposed to be educational, in a sneaky sort of way, but he liked it and when this was over and done with, he kind of wanted to look up said Charms wizard in the library, to see if they were a real person.

A whoosh from the other room took Harry's attention away and Snape looked up, setting his quill down.

"That would be Madam Pomfrey," he said, although Harry noticed the tip of Snape's wand, poking from his sleeve.

Luckily, it  _was_ Madam Pomfrey and she tutted over Harry's disheveled hair, sending a spell at it to neaten it. It barely worked and Harry had to bite his lip to stifle a smile. Maybe now Snape would stop picking on him for how untidy his hair was. It wasn't like he could  _help_ it.

"Well, Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, after another set of diagnostic scans that made his skin tingle and his scalp itch. "I'd say that the poison is well out of your system now. You may have lingering weakness or a tremor in your hands, but that should dissipate within the month. You were very lucky that Professor Snape was there and knew what to do."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry managed to say. He didn't feel very lucky at all, but he knew better than to say that. The horror of sleeping in Snape's room rose in his mind like a revenant, and he quelled a shudder.

"I just need to speak to Professor Snape privately for a moment," she said in a bracing voice and twirled her wand, surrounding herself and Snape in a bubble that shone lightly blue. Harry couldn't hear a word and he wasn't proficient enough at reading lips to understand what they were saying. He was sure it was about him, though. What else could it be? While Snape was distracted, Harry idly thought about making a break for it.

 _Nah,_ he decided. The door was probably warded shut, anyway. He'd only be caught and then what would he say?  _Sorry, sir, fancied a bit of fresh air._ Like that would work.

"Potter," Snape said. His shoulders hunched inward as he twisted to meet Snape's eyes. "Lunch is on the table. You will drink a nutritive draught and the appetite stimulant." His tone made it clear that protesting was useless.

Lunch was shepherd's pie and Harry settled in willingly enough, reluctantly drinking both bottles of potion next to his plate. The nutritive draught tasted a bit like a bunch of vegetables mashed up with dirt, but for all that, it wasn't  _awful_. 

"Did you like the book you chose?" Snape asked awkwardly once he had sat down. Harry nodded.

"Erm, it's really interesting," he admitted.

"Do you like Charms, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry reddened, staring down at his plate.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled. "They're- I like learning them."

"Your mother was brilliant with Charms," Snape murmured, so soft Harry had a hard time hearing him. He gaped at his professor, shepherd's pie forgotten.

"You knew my mum?" He asked.

"Yes," Snape said, with brooding reluctance. His expression was so foreboding, Harry didn't dare ask him any more on the subject.

No matter how much he wanted to.


	8. a chat amongst friends

"You are only allowed to have two visitors at a time," Snape told him. "I will be present throughout."

"Will you er- listen in?" Harry asked, his ears reddening.

"I doubt that your puerile conversations will pique my interest, Potter," Snape drawled. Harry's stomach clenched in humiliation. Did he always have to be such a  _git_? "If they become too loud or obstreperous, then they will be removed from my quarters, for the benefit of your well being."

 _And because you hate children and should never be allowed within fifty metres of a school,_ Harry added in his head. He should be grateful, he knew that. Snape didn't  _have_ to let his friends come to his rooms.

But he didn't  _know_ how Ron and Hermione were going to react to the news he'd drunk poison and he was terribly afraid to find out. Would they even want to be his friends anymore? He hadn't even left them a bloody  _note_. He'd been too lost in his thoughts. His plans.

"Do you understand, Potter?" Snape asked, waspish. Harry nodded automatically, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

A tentative knock on the door interrupted them and Harry startled, even as Snape turned round and answered the door, robes billowing around him. He heard Hermione's voice, then Ron's, and moments later, he faced his two best friends. Ron was very pale underneath his freckles and Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying all day.

"Erm, hi," he said awkwardly, and suddenly had an armful of weepy Hermione blubbering on his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly, meeting Snape's amused smirk as he settled back into an armchair, opening a thick Potions journal.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled after a few minutes, drawing back from him. "I've got you all wet now, I didn't mean to- I mean, I  _swore_ I wouldn't cry-"

"Sit down?" Harry suggested, indicating the sofa he'd slept on last night. All three of them sat down, Ron giving Snape mistrustful looks the whole time.

"Does  _he_ have to stay?" Ron asked, jerking a thumb toward the Potions professor.

"Considering what your  _friend_ decided to ingest, I most certainly do, Weasley," came Snape's biting tones. Ron flushed out to his ears.

"So it's- it's true then?" Ron asked, stumbling over the words. "You-"

"I drank Angel's Trumpet Draught," Harry said, deciding he might as well get that bit out of the way. Ron stared at him, uncomprehending, while Hermione gasped, one hand flying up to her mouth.

"But- Harry, how'd you get it?" She asked. Harry looked down at the carpet, shoulders hunched around his ears.

"I erm, I made it," he admitted. "In an empty classroom."

"What is it?" Ron demanded. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"It's a very potent poison," Hermione whispered. "I don't understand how you lived, Harry, I thought-"

"I drank too much," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "Apparently, I picked the only bloody potion that doesn't outright kill you if you take too much."

"Language, Potter," Snape remonstrated over his journal, but Harry ignored him.

"But why, Harry?" Hermione asked, also ignoring Snape. Her eyes were wide and wet and worried. "Why did you want to- to kill yourself?" Harry shrugged, looking down into his lap.

"I don't know," he admitted lowly. "The Dursleys- and last year- it feels like I wasn't supposed to live, anyway-" He indicated the basilisk scar on his arm.

"Have they been worse?" Ron hissed, in what was probably meant to be a whisper. "The twins and I will rescue you again if you need, Harry, just you say the word."

"Same as before, I guess," Harry said. "But- well, I blew up Aunt Marge, you know, I told you in Diagon Alley, but next summer..." He hesitated. The Dursleys would be  _furious_. The spectre of Aunt Petunia's drain cleaner rose in his mind.

"Mum could talk to Dumbledore," Ron started, but Harry shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

"It won't matter," he said dully. "I've asked before. I have to go back."

"Well, that's stupid," Hermione snapped. "Even after  _this_ -" She stopped, taking a deep breath. "So why are you here?" She asked, indicating Snape's quarters. "Professor McGonagall didn't really tell us anything."

"Snape saved me," Harry muttered. "He gave me the antidote. And apparently, whichever professor's nearest ends up in charge for two weeks."

"Oh," Ron said suddenly. "Like Percy." Harry gave Ron an incredulous look.

"Your  _brother_?" Harry asked, shocked. Ron reddened, looking much like Hagrid in his first year, but finally, reluctantly, nodded.

"In his second year," Ron admitted quietly. "He was so stressed out because of school, he had to spend three weeks in Professor McGonagall's quarters. It helped a lot, though," Ron hastened to assure him. "So er- maybe this will help." The doubtful look he cast toward Snape said otherwise.

"Can you go to class?" Hermione asked. Ron glared at her. "What?" She defended herself. "I can't imagine it would  _help_ anything if he gets really far behind..."

"Some," Harry said. "Apparently, I might not be allowed to go to some classes or lessons. And I er- I have to be in line of sight with a professor at all times." He grimaced.

"That sucks, mate," Ron said with real sympathy. Unexpected tears threatened to fall, burning Harry's eyes until he roughly wiped at them under his glasses.

"So you don't...hate me?" He asked in a thin whisper.

"Of course not," Hermione said, looking aghast at the very idea. "You're one of my best friends, Harry. I- I wish that you'd  _told_ me that you were feeling so- so horrible, but I don't  _hate_ you. I couldn't."

"Me either," Ron put in. "I dunno, I've never felt that way, but Percy has, and I never hated  _him_ , so why would I hate you, y'know?"

Harry gave them both a watery smile.

"Thank you," he said, and without him having to say a word, he found himself wrapped in a group hug. In his armchair, he could see the corner of Snape's mouth tip up.


	9. a telling reluctance

"Do I still have to wear these tomorrow?" Harry blurted out, plucking at his plain, new clothes at dinner. It was a rich beef stew this time, served with steaming dinner rolls, hot from the oven. With the boost of the appetite stimulant, he made a sizable dent in his portion, but anxiety kept gnawing at him.

"You will be wearing standard-issue black robes over them," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you commonly fling off your robes and prance about like a Muggle?"

"No," Harry said tightly.

"Then there won't be an issue," Snape said, like that ended the matter. "Tomorrow, Madam Pomfrey and I will also charm them so that you cannot hide anything in your pockets that will harm you. After classes, you will  _also_ be showing me the location of every last vial of Angel's Trumpet Draught and handing them over." Harry winced, sliding low in his chair.

"Do I have to?" He asked, hating the whininess in his tone. Snape's glare intensified.

"Yes," he snapped. "I have not spent all this time saving your life just for you to throw it away again. You are also currently barred from Astronomy, just in case. Professor Sinistra will make up the lesson plans and likely send them with Miss Granger, so you won't fall behind."

"Why can't I-" Harry started to ask, then stopped. Astronomy class was commonly held in the North Tower. If he had the inclination to jump...

"You are also banned from Potions," Snape said. Harry's mouth dropped.

"But- how-" He spluttered.

"You will be Disillusioned and you will sit in a chair next to my desk quietly," Snape said. "As I  _presume_ you do not wish anyone else to learn of your predicament, that should not pose a problem for you. Will it, Potter?"

Defeated, Harry shook his head. Internally, the prospect made him itch. Would the professor notice if he happened to  _accidentally_ drop something in Malfoy's cauldron? He studied his professor through his fringe. Yes. Yes, he would.

 _You know, there's no way to make any of this feel normal,_ a nagging thought formed.  _You're still not allowed to go to Potions and you still can't leave Snape's rooms. Because you tried to-_

He cut off that train of thought with great effort. He could last two weeks. Hell, maybe he'd even feel better at the end of it, although with the greasy git of the dungeons always swooping around him, he doubted it. If not, well...

He knew what he'd done wrong now. And who said he had to tell Snape  _every_ hiding place for the remnants of the Angel's Trumpet Draught?

His sleep that night was uneasy and full of half-formed nightmares about convulsing on the floor, blood and pastel foam warring for dominance on his lips, while Professor Snape leaned over him, forcing vial after vial down his throat.

Morning started much the same as the last, though the butterflies in Harry's stomach had trebled. He followed Snape to the breakfast table in bare feet, his heart beating like a triphammer. Snape handed him a folded piece of parchment.

"Your new schedule," he said.

Unfolding it, Harry saw it was much the same as it usually was, save for the absence of Astronomy and the stern reminder of where exactly he would be during Potions. His professor's names had been written down by various classes, though not always the one who taught it.

"They will walk you to your next class," Snape explained coolly. "Don't worry, Potter. It won't appear  _that_ obvious that you need a babysitter." Harry flushed with humiliation. Only the knowledge of what exactly Snape would do to him kept him from flinging the appetite stimulant and the nutritive draught at the wall to shatter.

"Won't people in Potions see I'm missing?" Harry asked suddenly. The thought of Malfoy noticing- and putting the pieces together- made him want to die all over again.

"A mild Notice Me Not charm," Snape said. "And same for Astronomy. If anyone wants to hex you or speak poorly of you in the corridors, they will find themselves unable to, without knowing why."

 _Of course, that doesn't seem to stop_ you, Harry thought sourly, poking at his oatmeal.

"Eat or you're not going anywhere," Snape sneered. Harry hastily lifted a spoonful to his mouth.

"Won't people notice you're not in the Great Hall for meals?" Harry asked. Snape shrugged.

"I am not always there," he said. "And occasionally, your supervisor may rotate. There are a few people I trust here to watch over you."

 _Not Professor Lupin, though,_ Harry thought, taking a long drink of pumpkin juice. He didn't know what the man had done to acquire Snape's enmity, but he didn't think he'd  _ever_ seen his Potions professor hate someone so much. Not even him.

"If you feel like you are overwhelmed, either tell your professor or tap your wand twice on your schedule," Snape continued. "You will be brought to these quarters and I will be alerted. Don't feel ashamed if you need to. You are not the first and you will not be the last." Harry still privately resolved that he'd rather lock himself in the Chamber of Secrets with the dead basilisk than admit to  _Snape_ that he felt overwhelmed or in need of the man's attention in any way.

"Put your shoes on," Snape snapped, once Harry had finally finished breakfast. "Your new school robes are on your bed by now. Your bookbag has been inspected, but you are allowed to bring your schoolbooks, wand, quills, ink, and parchment. Your quills have been charmed so that you can't hurt yourself with them. If I discover you are using your wand inappropriately-" He showed crooked teeth in a grimace, not needing to finish that statement. Harry swallowed hard. Right. No using his wand to off himself then. 

 _Not unless you have a 100% chance of succeeding and even then,_ he thought with faint humour.

Snape's gaze softened marginally.

"You will be fine, Potter," he said quietly. "And your first session with Madam Pomfrey is tonight. She will come here."

"Okay," Harry said, willing his voice not to shake.

It was funny. All he'd wanted yesterday was the chance to leave, to go to class and pretend that he hadn't drunk poison.

Now that he was expected to return to classes, all he wanted was the chance to stay.


	10. an unfortunate lesson

Harry felt like he was walking to his doom as he slipped out of Snape's quarters, the man virtually breathing down his neck. He would be the one walking Harry to Transfiguration. After one look at Snape's glower, Harry wondered how exactly Snape thought this would be anything resembling 'subtle.' He wasn't brave enough to mention it, though.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing up to him, her bookbag banging against her knees. For once, Ron followed at a sedate pace, his mouth crooked up into an awkward grin. They both did their best to ignore Snape's looming presence.

"Remember," Snape said in a low voice, as students streamed past them. Harry felt a subtle tingle slide over his skin. "Notice me not," Snape said, glaring at him. "Back to my point. If you get overwhelmed, tap your schedule. There is no shame in it." 

Harry nodded quickly, trying to ignore Hermione's and Ron's curious looks. He wondered why Snape had included them in his spell. Probably because they would  _make_ him use his get-out-of-jail-free card, even if he refused.

 _Then I'll just have to act harder if I need to,_ Harry resolved. Before he quite knew what was going on, he found himself swept up in the tide and into Professor McGonagall's classroom.

"Mr. Potter," she acknowledged with a curt nod. Harry could see sympathy in her eyes and it made his stomach curdle. She inclined her head toward one of the front seats and he reluctantly sat in it, bookended by Ron and Hermione.

He took notes, but it felt like he was on autopilot, watching his quill scratch out what McGonagall was talking about. Something about animate to inanimate transfigurations. Something about the thought made him feel uneasy. Did the living creature  _feel_ it? Did the object suddenly get flooded with what it meant to be alive, the confusing babble of heartbeats and breath pulsing in and out of its lungs?

Some of this must have registered on his face because Hermione leaned in and in the barest of whispers, asked if he was all right. McGonagall's eyes flicked their way, but she didn't say anything. Harry mumbled an affirmative and bent studiously over his parchment. Thankfully, this was a purely theoretical lesson. He didn't think it was a good idea to be using his wand right now, and not for any of the reasons that Snape appeared to be concerned about.

 _Is this a side effect of the potion?_ He fretted as he packed up his bookbag. His head felt like clouds had invaded it, filling his mind with thick fog. He barely noticed when Professor Flitwick casually chaperoned him to the Defense classroom, although he did manage to mutter a thank you in the dimunitive professor's direction.

"Today, we're going to be talking about Boggarts," Professor Lupin said with a friendly smile. "To do that, I'm afraid we're going to have to take a little field trip to the staff room."

Harry followed along curiously, Lupin's eyes tracking his every move. It was startlingly unpleasant, even moreso than Snape's scowl, although Harry couldn't put his finger on why. The man was mild-mannered enough, and he was nothing like Lockhart (thank goodness) or Quirrellmort, Merlin forbid. So why...?

The wardrobe in the staff room wobbled, banging against the wall and ensuring Harry suddenly gave it his full attention. His heart felt like a drum beneath his rib cage and he fancied he could feel it literally slam against the bones. What on earth could that be? Was that a Boggart?

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," Professor Lupin explained.  _Like my cupboard,_ Harry thought. "Wardrobes, gaps between beds, cupboards and bolt holes- I've even seen one that lodged itself in a grandfather clock! The Boggart in this wardrobe, however, moved in yesterday. I asked the Headmaster if I could borrow it for a bit, to give you some practise." He looked around encouragingly. From what Harry could see, most people looked vaguely ill.

"So," Lupin continued. "What is a Boggart?" Hermione's hand immediately shot up.

"It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It takes the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most."

"Exactly," Lupin said. "The Boggart inside the wardrobe at the moment looks like- well, no one knows. No one has managed to discover what a Boggart might look like when it is alone. However, when I release it, it will immediately take on the appearance of whatever your greatest fear is." Neville spluttered a bit in terror. Harry couldn't blame him. What would his greatest fear even  _be_? Voldemort? The basilisk? Could a basilisk Boggart hurt anyone? The Dursleys? (He prayed it wasn't the Dursleys.)

 _The Angel's Trumpet Draught?_ His mind wondered.

"We have a tremendous advantage over this Boggart, however," Lupin said triumphantly. "Can anyone guess what it is? Harry?" 

Harry looked up, startled.

"Erm-" he said. "There's so many people here, it will get confused?" He hazarded a guess.

"Precisely," Lupin said. "That is why it is always best to have company when you are dealing with a Boggart infestation. It becomes confused. Now. The charm that repels a Boggart is quite simple..."

The lesson went on, Harry practising  _Riddikulus_ as best as he could, but inside, he felt consumed by doubts. How was he supposed to  _laugh_ at  _anything_ when he'd just- 

Well, when he'd just attempted suicide that week.

"Here we go," Lupin said, and released the Boggart in front of a trembling, white-faced Ron. It immediately turned into a massive Acromantula and several people screamed.

" _Riddikulus_!" Ron cried, his voice quivering, and the spider instantly sported several pairs of roller skates, slipping and sliding all over the place.

As each person in the class ended up in front of the creature, Harry couldn't keep up with it all. A bloody eyeball, a severed hand, a mummy-

He only really came back into focus when Neville Longbottom stepped in front of the Boggart and it morphed into Professor Snape.

Harry swallowed, watching the Boggart Snape advance on Neville. Neville looked like he was about to drop his wand any moment.

"Come on, Mr. Longbottom," Lupin encouraged. "You can do it. Think of something unusual, something funny-"

"All I can think of is my grandmother," Neville said in a strangled voice. " _Riddikulus._ "

And Boggart Snape suddenly found itself wearing Augusta Longbottom's traditional vulture hat and waving around a handbag. The rest of the class found it hilarious- even Hermione couldn't hold back a snicker- but Harry felt...conflicted. Before Snape had saved him, he would have laughed just as hard as Ron and the others. But now- even knowing it was just a Boggart and it wasn't  _real_ -

How was he supposed to feel?

"It's getting weaker!" Professor Lupin exclaimed. "Come on, that's it-"

Harry ended up in front of it for only a moment, his worst fears coming to light as it started to turn into an all-too-familiar potions vial-

And then Lupin stepped in front of it, and it turned into a round white ball instead.

" _Riddikulus,_ " Lupin stated firmly and it blew away like a punctured balloon, sailing right back into the wardrobe, where Lupin shut it up with a grimace.

 _What was that?_ Harry wondered, trying to keep his mind off what the Boggart had started to become for him.

"Harry," Hermione said in a low voice, pulling him aside as the rest of the class started to stream out. "Harry, are you all right, do you need to use your schedule..."

Harry opened his mouth to inform her that he was perfectly fine,  _thank you_ , and he didn't need any such thing.

Instead, with a defeated nod, he mumbled an affirmative.

"I'll tell Professor Lupin," she said. "That way, he doesn't wait around."

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said. He pulled out his schedule, still folded, and as Hermione watched, he tapped it twice with his wand, quite hard.

The world turned to static around him, and he felt a strong tug just behind his navel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to bits of Professor Lupin's Boggart lesson from Prisoner of Azkaban.


	11. most surprising comfort

When the spinning stopped, Harry found himself sprawled in the middle of Snape's now-familiar living room. Nausea surged up his throat and he had to compress his lips so tightly they went pale to stop from throwing up. Snape had never mentioned  _that_ particular side effect of using the schedule, although perhaps he should have expected it.

He pushed himself to his feet just as the door banged open and Professor Snape appeared, robes billowing behind him.

"Are you all right, Potter?" He asked. Harry hesitated, then shrugged, shoulders slumped as he dropped onto the couch. "What happened?" Snape persisted. "Defense was your last class, was it not?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Erm- there was a Boggart-" Snape's expression darkened with cold anger and for once, Harry realised with wonder, it was not directed at him.

"That foolish-  _unbelievable_ \- He was supposed to  _inform me_ -" Snape's furious monologue petered out and he whirled, peering into Harry's eyes.

" _Accio_ Calming Draught," he said, and a small vial zoomed into his hand. "Drink this, Potter."

"I'm fine," Harry protested. "I don't- I don't need a potion, sir."

"I realise that you may be adverse to taking potions after the Angel's Trumpet Draught, but I beg to differ on the idea that you're fine," Snape said sharply. "You're as pale as the Bloody Baron and you're shaking like Longbottom in my class." He presented the Calming Draught again and reluctantly, Harry snagged it, drinking it before he could change his mind. Thankfully, it tasted nothing like the poison. Relaxation abruptly flooded his limbs, sending him into the depths of the sofa cushions. He no longer felt like having a panic attack and flinging himself into the lake.  _That's probably good,_ Harry thought lazily.

"What was your Boggart?" Snape asked, settling in his armchair and giving Harry a severe look. Flustered, Harry dropped his gaze, focusing on the carpet.

"I- I don't know exactly," he prevaricated. "I  _thought_ it was turning into- into the Angel's Trumpet Draught and I- I panicked, but Professor Lupin got in front of me before it fully formed. His is a white ball-"

"It's the moon, Potter," Snape interrupted. Looking back up, there was an odd gleam in Snape's eyes that Harry didn't particularly like. "So you feared that your class would see something unusual? Suspect something?"

"Y-yeah," Harry stammered. "But- that's not the only reason-" 

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked. "What's wrong?"

"Neville," Harry said in a tiny voice, hating how he felt like he was betraying his friend. "But- please, please don't be mad at him, sir, he couldn't help it."

"His Boggart is me, isn't it," Snape said, with a funny twist of his lips. Harry nodded miserably. "So what did Lupin have him do?"

"Erm- well, all Neville could think of was his grandmother," Harry mumbled. "So er- the Boggart ended up in her vulture hat and everyone laughed..."

"And you, as well?" Snape asked coolly. Harry shook his head so fast his glasses nearly fell off.

"I didn't," he said. "It- it felt wrong."

It was fleeting, but Harry still saw the surprise on Professor Snape's face.

"Did Lupin even give you the theory?" Snape asked. Harry shrugged.

"In the staff room," he said. "We talked about them and the charm to make them go away..." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed harshly.

"I'm sorry, Potter," he said in a strangled voice. "You were supposed to miss the Defense practical on Boggarts.  _Professor_ Lupin apparently decided to go against my orders."

"I don't think my Boggart would be the potion before this week," Harry said suddenly. "Or Vold-" He noticed the look on Snape's face and hastily changed mid-word. "-You-Know-Who. Maybe the basilisk. Or the Dementors. What would happen if the Boggart turned into a basilisk, sir?" He asked, remembering his curiousity earlier.

"You may be the first lucky one to see one in quite a substantial amount of time," Snape said dryly. "But that is an excellent question. I doubt that the Boggart would be able to  _kill_ people, but they could very well end up Petrified."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. The edges of the Calming Draught were slowly starting to wear off.

"It wouldn't be _your_ fault, Potter," Snape said in exasperation. "I imagine facing a full-grown basilisk at twelve years old would be  _excruciatingly_ terrifying. I would be shocked if the Headmaster has not informed Lupin of your  _exploits_ in the past two years. It is _disgustingly_  careless of him to forget that even third years may have uncontrollable horrors in their past. As for the Dementors-" He paused. "I believe that would insinuate that you are afraid of fear itself. An interesting contradiction."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

"Do you want to remain here?" Snape asked, changing the subject. "Do you feel up to returning to classes?"

"No," Harry said. "I- I don't want to come in late. Sir?" He asked. "Weren't you in a class?"

"Yes," Snape said. "The Headmaster is currently in charge of it. They are seventh years so I'm not  _completely_ terrified of what atrocities Albus might be committing." His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile.

"Can I come with you?" Harry blurted. Snape looked down at him, considering.

"Under Disillusionment," he said. "You will sit in a chair by my desk, the way you would in your own Potions class. If you would like, you may bring a book to read and I will charm it, too, so you can see it, but no one else."

"Please," Harry said. He didn't know why he was being so...so  _agreeable_. Snape was a  _git_. And Professor Lupin had been so nice to him so far, even telling him a few stories about his father...

But Professor Lupin had sprung a Boggart on him. And he'd  _laughed_ at Neville's Boggart. He hadn't really laughed at anyone else's, just an encouraging smile and some praise as he exhorted them onward. It made Harry feel funny.

It wasn't  _Lupin_ who'd agreed to take him in after he drank poison, after all. It was  _Snape_. He was sure the man could have gotten out of it if he had really wanted to. He could have pawned Harry off on someone else. There was already precedent, if a professor ended up with multiple charges. But he hadn't. He wasn't  _nice_ about it, like he imagined Professor Sprout or Madam Pomfrey might be. But he seemed to care at least a  _little_ about Harry's well-being.

And Harry didn't understand that at all.


	12. an uncomfortable realisation

Harry trailed after Snape, his heart thumping in the hollow of his throat. He was Disillusioned, but he couldn't help the slippery grip of paranoia caressing his spine. These were  _seventh years_ after all, surely they could see that there was someone Disillusioned sitting next to Snape's desk. What if they tried to end the spell? What if he were seen?

Snape seemed to sense his insecurities because under the cover of his heavy robes, Harry felt a cool hand briefly squeeze his shoulder, directing him to the appropriate chair. He stumbled toward it, book clutched in sweaty hands.

"Thank you, Albus, that will be all," Snape sneered toward the Headmaster, who only beamed and clapped his hands.

"Always glad to be of service, Severus, you know that," Dumbledore said. Harry had a feeling that if Snape could incinerate a man on the spot, he would have.

"What are you all gawping at?" Snape shouted, whirling around on his hapless NEWT students. "Get back to work!"

Harry tried to crane his head to see what potion the class was working on, but the board remained a frustrating blur. He stifled a sigh, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He probably didn't even know what it was.

He probably  _shouldn't_ know what it was.

Tension settled on his shoulders as he attempted to read. The potion fumes wafted from many cauldrons, the chill of the dungeons seeping through Harry's thin, standard-issue robes. He had just begun to wonder if perhaps he should have stayed in Snape's quarters after all when class ended.

"Out," Snape barked, over the din of escaping students. "I expect your homework to be at  _least_ three feet this time, do you hear me, Mr. Jones-" A round-faced boy with rumpled dark hair flushed pink as he darted out.

As soon as everyone had left, Snape flicked his wand, removing the Disillusionment.

"Was that all right?" Snape asked quietly. Harry blinked, startled by the apparent display of concern.

"Yeah," he said. "Just- just kinda dull. And it's freezing down here." Snape stared at his robes, then frowned.

"Here," he said, leaning over and tapping his wand against Harry's collar. Warmth engulfed him and he stared at his professor open-mouthed.

"How-" He started to ask.

"Built in temperature charms, Potter," Snape didn't bother letting him finish his question. "I apologise for not informing you about them this morning." Harry nodded in thanks, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the stone floor.

"It's lunch time," Snape continued. "Do you want to eat in the Great Hall or in my quarters?"

"Great Hall," Harry said immediately. While he didn't want to face loads of noisy students, he  _did_ want to see Hermione and Ron so he could reassure them he was all right.

"Let's go then," Snape said. Instead of proceeding out the classroom door, Snape led him through a separate door that Harry had never noticed before. It ended very close to the Entrance Hall, and Snape paused there, before actually venturing out.

"This is a monitoring charm," Snape said, tapping Harry on the head with his wand. It felt like his stomach fizzed. "It will wear off in approximately ten minutes. It allows you to enter the Great Hall alone and myself to get to the Head Table. If you choose otherwise, I will know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said tightly. As if he wanted to get into trouble  _now_.

"Good," Snape said, peering at him. "Go on then." 

Despite the emptiness of the corridors around him, Harry still found himself hurrying. The warmth of his robes didn't dissipate the chill of being alone. It was startling. He thought he would relish a few minutes to himself, but instead he just felt...almost scared.

He didn't know if it was of other people or himself.

As he slipped into the Great Hall, a wave of noise washed over him and he felt his shoulders relax as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. Seeing him, Hermione and Ron budged up, leaving space for him.

"There you are," Hermione said. "I wondered if you would er- make it to lunch."

"Yeah," Harry said, grabbing a thick ham and cheese sandwich. "I just- I needed a break, I guess." He shrugged. Hermione's eyes felt scouring as she studied his face, then suddenly turned back to her own food with a sharp nod.

"I wrote all the notes for you, of course," Hermione said. "And explained to Professor Flitwick, he understood."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, poking at the carrots and peas Hermione had ladled onto his plate. Apparently, a sandwich was not enough.

With a quiet pop, the familiar appetite stimulant and nutritive potion vials appeared next to his goblet. He glanced up at the Head Table to see Snape glaring in his direction. With a grimace, he tossed back both, washing them down with a long swallow of pumpkin juice.

"What were those?" Ron asked, surfacing from his lunch. Hermione's wide eyes echoed the question.

"Appetite stimulant and some kind of nutrition potion," Harry said sourly. "Apparently I don't eat enough. And er- you know-" Hermione and Ron nodded in understanding. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose.

"So how's it been?" Hermione asked in a quiet voice. "Are you- well, doing any better?"

"Hermione, you shouldn't push," Ron advised. Harry silently thanked him. "I remember Mum told all of us to leave off Percy..."

"I wasn't  _pushing_ , Ron," she said frostily, but she did stop that line of questioning, instead prattling on about something in Charms. Without context of the particular lesson, Harry couldn't keep up and from the looks of it, neither could Ron.

"It's History of Magic after lunch, yeah?" Harry asked when Hermione paused to breathe. 

"Yes," she said.

"I erm- do you think line of sight works with ghosts?" Harry whispered. "I mean...they're  _dead_...and Binns can't be arsed to notice the people who are  _alive_ -"

"Harry!" Hermione admonished. He could see the suppressed amusement, though. "And I don't know. Obviously ghosts can  _see_ us, but you have a point about Professor Binns." She nibbled her bottom lip. "Maybe you should skip it."

"Hermione, advising someone to skip a class, the apocalypse is upon us," Ron said, snickering.

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione said, her face brilliant red. "You know what I mean."

"I just don't want to impose," Harry protested. "I can't keep- I mean, what about when he has class, he can't just miss them all, and being there is-" He bit his tongue before he admitted how odd it had been, sitting in the classroom where he'd tossed back poison. He didn't think Professor Snape had thought about that.

"You shouldn't be there," Hermione said softly. "Oh no, Harry, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he muttered, with a bravery he did not at all feel. "I'll go to History, I can probably catch up on my sleep."

Privately, he doubted it.


	13. found in the library

Harry sighed, fidgeting in his seat. Ron and Hermione bracketed him, like last time, but he could tell that Binns barely noticed he was there. They'd taken their customary near-the-back seats (optimal when the inevitable happened and he fell asleep- he didn't think even Hermione managed to stay awake the  _entire_ class period) and Binns hadn't even blinked. If Snape knew, he'd probably-

Well, what  _could_ he do? Binns was a  _ghost_. Could he exorcise him? But the Headmaster would never allow Snape to exorcise a  _professor_ , no matter how dull his lectures were.

Instead, Harry felt his mind continually returning to the spare vials of Angel's Trumpet Draught he had secreted around the castle and in his dormitory. Snape had said that he would steer Harry around tonight to collect them all, but in the meantime...

 _What are you doing?_ He demanded, horrified with himself. He'd already  _felt_ the gruesome effects when the poison didn't work. He didn't even actually  _know_ the correct dose, not really. And what about the effects on Ron and Hermione? Sure, the Dursleys would probably cheer, but they were arseholes. They didn't count.

 _You know they do,_ some tiny, ethereal voice in his mind taunted.  _They've always counted to_ you _._

Perhaps that was true, but Harry was thirteen years old now and it was past time he grew up. He  _knew_ that Uncle Vernon despised him and Aunt Petunia would always see him as nothing more than her freaky sister's unwanted burden. Whether or not she'd loved her sister, she certainly didn't love  _him_. And Dudley was a fat, bullying arse fast following in his father's footsteps.

Harry bit back a sigh. Sometimes he missed the cupboard. It had been a space that was just  _his_. No one else could fit in it. He knew that wasn't a good thing, that the only reason he could was because he'd been starved, but he still treasured the dubious safety it had sometimes bestowed on him. He would be thrown into his cupboard and forgotten, but sometimes the lack of him in the living room or the kitchen or upstairs was what saved him from Vernon when he was especially drunk or furious. He  _knew_ that.

He also knew that the upcoming summer would be the worst he'd ever had, after he'd blown up Aunt Marge. He didn't  _mean_ to and there was no lasting harm done-

But his aunt and uncle unfortunately did not fall under the purview of receiving a Memory Charm. All  _they_ would remember was their filthy, freaky little nephew doing the unthinkable with his  _freaky_ little powers.

And Harry was a freak, he knew that intimately. How else would he have survived the Killing Curse? He'd done the impossible. His parents had  _died_ for him and the only memory he had of either of them was the one the dementor on the train had given him. Lily screaming as she tried to fight off Voldemort. His mum's  _death_. How gruesome was that?

He shivered and Hermione gave him an anxious look, glancing up from her notes. Ron was already asleep, head pillowed on his bookbag. A thin string of drool hung suspended from his bottom lip.

"Are you all right?" Hermione mouthed. Harry nodded shakily. He refused to use the sanctuary of Snape's rooms again today. He just had to get through History of Magic and then he had a study period. He would be  _fine_. He  _was_ fine. 

 _Liar_ , that little voice taunted. He studiously ignored it.

When Binns finally dismissed them, Harry jumped to his feet, feeling an irresistible urge to move, to  _leave_ - 

Hermione tugged on his elbow, stopping his forward flight.

"You can't just run out of here," she hissed.

"Yeah, like Binns is gonna-" He started before noticing Professor Binns had already floated through the wall, presumably returning to his office. "Well, there. I'm not  _in_ line of sight of any professors now, Hermione."

"I wouldn't put too much stock in that assumption, Mr. Potter," Snape said silkily, stepping into the classroom. The classroom that suddenly contained only Harry, Hermione, and a very groggy Ron.

"How did you-" Harry gaped at Snape, who smiled unpleasantly.

"I know my  _esteemed_ colleague," Snape sneered. "Come along, Potter. I have class, I'm afraid, but Madam Pince has agreed to watch you in the library. Do not leave without an escort."

Harry's face burned as Snape steered him and his friends to the library, dropping them off by Madam Pince's desk. She sent Harry a sympathetic look over her cat's eye glasses.

"I will retrieve you for dinner," Snape murmured, as if Harry was nothing but a parcel.

"Come  _on_ , Harry," Hermione whispered, tugging him toward a free table in Madam Pince's sight. The librarian gave them an approving nod. "Here, why don't you copy over my Charms notes," she said.

"You could just copy them for him," Ron suggested. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If Harry writes them out himself, the knowledge will stick more," Hermione said. "And considering he missed class, he  _needs_ that."

"Okay, fine," Ron said, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. Hermione huffed and turned back to Harry.

"I'll get the books we need for our Charms homework," she said. "It's not too tricky."

"Says the girl who will probably end up writing an extra foot," Ron muttered under his breath. Harry snickered. As Hermione flounced into the stacks, Ron turned to Harry, lowering his voice.

"Are you doing okay, mate? You didn't look so hot in History before I conked out," he said, concern bright in his eyes. Harry flushed.

"I dunno," he admitted. "I think I am, but then my thoughts go all funny, and then I feel like everything's normal, but it's  _not_ , is it, it can't be-"

"It will be," Ron said.

"You don't know that," Harry whispered.

"It will take time," Ron said seriously. "Percy still sees a Mind Healer during the summer. But that doesn't mean things can't become normal again. It's just. Well, a new normal. And that's okay."

"When did you get so philosophical?" Harry asked, blinking in surprise. Ron shrugged.

"Percy," he said. "And everything. You. I want you to be okay."

"And so do I," Hermione re-entered the conversation, setting down a heavy stack of books. Ron and Harry shared a mutual glance of horror at what she deemed appropriate for their Charms homework. "That's all I want for you, Harry," Hermione said with determination.

"I want us all to be," Harry mumbled. Somehow, that felt like enough.


	14. a conversation overdue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Severus's POV.

Satisfied that Potter was safe under the watchful eye of Madam Pince for the moment (although Severus had cast his own monitoring spell on the entrance to the library to alert him if the boy tried to leave), Severus was well on his way down to the dungeons when he caught sight of Remus Lupin. His previously banked anger re-ignited with a vengeance when he saw the werewolf. The fact that Potter had actually  _used_ his failsafe after the wolf's lesson spoke volumes. Personally, Severus had bet that Potter would have to be physically dragged by his two little friends if he was doing poorly. It left a sour taste in his mouth that one of Potter's bloody father's  _friends_ had left the boy in such a state. Mind made up, he approached the man in long, swift strides.

"A word, Lupin," he said tightly. The werewolf looked up in surprise and Severus nearly hissed when he saw the suppressed amusement in Lupin's eyes. Ah, so he thought this was about bumbling Longbottom's Boggart.

"Of course," Lupin said amiably enough. Severus guided him into an empty classroom, layering it with as many privacy spells as he could. Lupin's eyes widened when he saw that, eyes flaring amber for a moment. Severus had to fight down a shudder at this reminder the man was not human. Well, not wholly human.

"Do you think I speak just to hear myself talk?" He asked in an icy voice. Lupin's face became a picture of confusion. " _Potter_ , Lupin. I  _know_ I told you that he could  _not_ do the Boggart practical. Theory only. Did you think I ordered that purely for my own entertainment?"

"I'm sorry, Severus, but it made more sense to combine the two," Lupin said, floundering. Severus rose one haughty eyebrow.

"Indeed," he drawled. "I'm sure that it's  _fine_ that Potter was likely this close to seeing the instrument of his near-demise." He left out how Potter wasn't entirely sure what his Boggart would be. "Not to mention how inexcusably  _imbecilic_ it is to do that practical, with no inkling of what your students' Boggarts may be. Did you not think some of those children experience abuse at home? That some children may have the D- You-Know-Who as their Boggart? That  _Potter_ saw a bloody  _basilisk_ last year?"

That, at least, seemed to strike home, as the werewolf's face began to turn pale.

"I haven't the faintest what a basilisk Boggart would be capable of, but I have no desire to find out," Severus bit out. "You disobeyed me. I  _know_ that Albus must have gone over line of sight practicalities with you. He does for all new professors or staff members. The only staff member excused is Argus. And the only reason  _he_ is is because he's a Squib. So unless you want to claim that excuse...?" Lupin shook his head.

"I thought he would be fine," Lupin said faintly. "He  _looked_ all right-"  _No, he didn't,_ Severus said silently. Even when he had seen the boy off that morning, he'd looked peaky.

"He looked terrible when he used his schedule to come to my quarters," Severus said, his voice harsh. "He tried to  _commit suicide_ a few days ago, Lupin. Why would you think it  _appropriate_ in any way to let the boy face a creature that takes the form of your greatest fear?"

"And what of you, Severus?" Lupin accused. "Neville Longbottom's Boggart was-"

"Me," Severus said. "And I imagine that's only because he wasn't old enough to remember Bellatrix Lestrange. You haven't spent time with Longbottom in Potions, Lupin. He blows up a cauldron simply by looking at it, it feels like, and Potions is incredibly  _dangerous_. As in, the potential for serious explosions and  _death_ , Lupin. If Longbottom fearing me ensures that he does not murder all of his classmates, then so must it be. And  _you_ are trying to change the subject from your own appalling behaviour. I fully intend to speak with Albus about this." Lupin blanched.

"Surely there's no need for that-" He started to say, but Severus sneered at him, cutting him off.

"I'm afraid I have a class to teach," Severus said coldly. He undid the wards with a wave of his wand and stalked off, leaving the werewolf looking lost.

_Not that I care,_ Severus thought as he strode down to the dungeons. This class was Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw sixth years, so he trusted they had not blown themselves up in the few minutes he had missed.

This lesson was purely theoretical and he had written much of it on the board, so his thoughts were free to wander, both over the infuriating conversation he had just had with Remus Lupin and about his current charge, studying in the library. 

He had ordered all of the staff to give him their lesson plans, as was his right as a professor in charge of protecting a suicidal student. He'd had to do it at night, while Madam Pomfrey watched over Potter, in case he had woken. Everyone but Lupin had given them up willingly enough, knowing the protocol by now. Albus had had to coax the werewolf into doing his duty as well. Perhaps Severus should have suspected something. Theory and practical had been clearly separated in Lupin's lesson plan.

Instead, the werewolf had thrown his lesson plan merrily out the window and decided  _he_ knew best. He had stepped in front of Potter, but the damage was already done. Potter had ended up sitting in on his NEWT class and now that he thought about it, perhaps that wasn't the best plan after all. He had wanted Potter to sit in on his own class as well, so he wouldn't get too behind on theory, but the Potions classroom was the location of his attempt.

_I'll ask Poppy if she would be willing to watch him during that class period,_ Severus resolved.  _A few charms on his usual seat and the others shouldn't notice that he's not there. And since Granger and Weasley know the truth, they should be able to cover for him._

_And tonight I have to find all the extra doses of the Angel's Trumpet Draught,_ he realised with a muffled groan. One of the front seat Hufflepuffs looked at him curiously and he glared so ferociously at her, she squeaked and bent her head to her notes, scribbling industriously.  _I might have to use Veritaserum on the boy. If I limit my questioning purely to the locations of the poison... Perhaps, if Poppy or Minerva is with me, he'll trust me to dose him. It's worth a try._

After he dismissed the class, he sank into the chair behind his desk, rubbing at his temples. A headache had taken up residence, most likely because of the werewolf's condescending ignorance. Acting like  _Severus_ was at fault for Longbottom's Boggart. Perhaps he was a bit harsher on the boy than he had to be, but he couldn't show  _Gryffindor_ any sort of favourable treatment, and Longbottom had proven himself hopeless in his first year. Perhaps with consistent tutoring he would improve somewhat, but he'd never be a natural.

_That's it,_ Severus decided wearily.  _I'll arrange Potions tutoring for Longbottom. It will kill two birds with one stone. It may save my classroom from another explosion and it will get one over on that bloody werewolf._ A pleased smile stretched his mouth.

It instantly died when he felt a twinge around his ankle.

Potter had breached the library entrance.


	15. forbidden jaunts

"I don't think you should just go," Ron said uneasily. Madam Pince had gotten caught up in a bunch of seventh years asking questions and Hermione was buried in an enormous, dusty book.

"You're with me," Harry pointed out. "I just need to go to the loo, Ron. Can you imagine asking Pince?" He made an exaggerated expression of horror.

"You have a point," Ron admitted. "But Snape's gonna be mad, don't you think?"

"He won't find out," Harry dismissed, unknowing of the alarm that had just sounded, down in the Potions classroom. "I'll be in and out and back to the library in no time."

"I'm coming in the loo with you," Ron told him. "There's- you know- you don't have to use a stall."

"What am I going to do in a stall, drown myself in the toilet?" Harry asked in exasperation. "I'm not  _that_ desperate." Ron flushed red, but didn't back down. Harry slipped into the boys' bathroom, finishing his business without incident while Ron studied him like a hawk (carefully keeping his eyes  _above_ Harry's waist, of course).

Harry washed his hands, staring at his pallid reflection in the mirror. He looked like he'd been ill for a week, he thought, and grimaced.

"Come on," Ron said impatiently, casting anxious glances at the door.

"All right, all right," Harry said, trying to flatten his hair over his scar and giving up, as usual. "But I don't think it's-" He opened the door and banged into something.  _Someone_ , he should say. He swallowed, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to meet the icy gaze of his Potions professor.

"Did you really think that I would leave you under Madam Pince's watchful eye without taking a few precautions of my own?" Snape said silkily. "What, may I ask, was so urgent that you had to leave the sanctity of the library, in the company of another third year?"

"I erm, had to go to the loo,"  Harry mumbled, his cheeks flaming. "I didn't wanna-"

"You could have asked for a male member of staff," Snape interrupted him. "Or told Madam Pince and she would have arranged for a male member of staff to escort you." His mouth tightened. "However, it is- perhaps the mark of a good friend for Weasley to accompany you." Ron's mouth dropped.

"I shall return you to the library," Snape continued. " _Do not_ leave it again." His expression was thunderous as he looked down at Harry and Ron, and Harry nodded fervently.

"Good," Snape said.

A very subdued Harry made his way back into the library, where Hermione quietly laid into both him and Ron, and he had to watch Snape have a word with the librarian, who fixed him with a glare. Harry winced and slid down in his chair. Perhaps that hadn't been the brightest of ideas. But how was  _he_ supposed to know he could have asked for someone to escort him? It wasn't like anyone had  _told_ him.

"You should finish Charms," Hermione told him in an insistent whisper, tapping her quill on his parchment. "And then you-"

"And then it will be dinner time, Hermione," Ron interrupted her. He got a blissful look on his face for a few seconds. "I hope they're serving sausage rolls."

"Probably," Hermione said with a sniff. "Now, if you look at this page..."

Surprisingly, Harry lost himself in his work, only stirring when Snape returned.

"Potter," Snape said. Harry flinched, nearly falling out of his seat. His face warmed as he settled himself back into his chair.

"Professor," he acknowledged as politely as he could.

"Pack up," Snape ordered. 

This time was much the same as lunch. The monitoring spell, as he stood there with Ron and Hermione, and then the trio ventured into the Great Hall, leaving Snape to saunter in a few minutes later, going to the Head Table.

"Sausage rolls!" Ron exclaimed in delight, grabbing two and settling them on his plate next to a heap of mashed potatoes and the glazed carrots Hermione had already put on his plate.

The familiar potions vials popped into place by Harry's plate and he reluctantly swallowed them both, poking at his food with his fork.

"I'm already tired of this," he mumbled, propping his chin up with his hand.

"It gets worse before it gets better," Ron advised him sagely in between bites of sausage. "That's what Percy told me. He wouldn't tell the twins because they're, y'know." He waved his fork around. "Noisy. But he trusted me." Ron puffed up his chest.

"Wouldn't he mind you talking about him then?" Hermione asked, staring at him. Ron shook his head.

"He said he wouldn't mind if I was telling someone who was like, going through the same thing," he said. "And er- I think Harry qualifies."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione admitted. "Harry, if you don't start eating, I think Professor Snape is going to burn a hole through his table with his eyes." Startled, Harry looked up to see the withering glare Snape had directed at his spot in particular. Hastily, he shoved a mouthful of potato in, and Snape turned away, seemingly satisfied for the moment.

"I wish I could sleep in the dorm," Harry muttered, stabbing a chunk of carrot savagely and stuffing it in his mouth. Ron looked at him sympathetically.

"You'll be there soon enough," he consoled, but Harry couldn't help remembering that two weeks was the  _minimum_. Would he have to do this longer? A month? Two? All  _year_? Would he have to spend Christmas with  _Snape_? 

He hoped that never came to pass. He didn't want Snape to see his tiny, precious hoard of presents or the pitiful envelope the Dursleys always sent him. He thought Aunt Petunia did it deliberately, to be cruel. She probably hoped he didn't  _get_ any other presents, so the only thing he received over the holidays was fifty pence or Dudley's old sock.

He didn't want to talk about anything with Madam Pomfrey, either. She was nice enough but she wanted to  _know_ things. And despite his careless words the first day, his relatives' old lessons still resonated in his skull.  _Don't tell._ He knew it was stupid. They couldn't get him at Hogwarts. Muggles couldn't even  _see_ the school and his uncle was too angry (and afraid, if he were honest) about magic to even make the attempt. They'd never know.

Unless-

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. They wouldn't contact his relatives because of the Angel's Trumpet Draught, would they? He'd only been partially joking about them throwing a party, but if they actually  _knew_ , since he'd ended up bloody  _surviving_...

He could only imagine how they would react in the summer. Treat him like he was nutters, probably. Lock him up, like some kind of mangy cur. They would have even more vitriol to distribute amongst the neighbours about their nephew and St. Brutus.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, jolting him from his reverie.

"Wha?" He asked thickly. Hermione jerked her head toward his still half-full plate.

"Eat," she ordered. He made a face, but did as he was told, reckoning that if he didn't, Snape would just have words with him later.

As everyone started to stream out of the Great Hall, Harry felt a cool hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"A word, Potter," Snape sneered and led him away. As soon as they were in yet another hidden corridor, Snape let his hand fall.

"My apologies," he said perfunctorily. "I thought it best to behave like you were in trouble. Would you like to return to my quarters now?" Hesitant, Harry nodded. All of his worrying had worn him out and maybe this way, he could ask Snape the latest question that had popped into his mind.

About the Dursleys.

"Sir," he started, as soon as the door had snicked shut behind him. "Erm- I have a question-"

"What is it?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. "If it is about your friends-"

"No, it's not them," Harry rushed to say. His hands felt very clammy and he had to wipe them against his robes. "It's just er- well- I was wondering if the school had to notify my relatives that I drank poison," he spilled out in a tangle of words.

"Ordinarily, yes," Snape said slowly. "However, the decision is made on a case-by-case basis. In  _your_ case, considering your state of  _general_ ill health and the fact they are Muggles, they have not been contacted."

The sudden flood of relief nearly made Harry collapse.


	16. therapeutic intervention

"Madam Pomfrey will be here soon for your first therapy session," Snape said, and all of that relief immediately dissipated, leaving Harry deflated. "After that, you will accompany me throughout the castle to each hiding place you have concocted for the Angel's Trumpet Draught. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying to push the resentment out of his voice. It would be fine, damn it. He didn't  _need_ any more bloody  _poison_.  _Although some poison might be preferable to whatever Voldemort might do to me,_ he reflected. He didn't see a point in saying it out loud, though. Snape was already doing him a favour, letting him go to lunch and dinner with his friends. He didn't want that privilege taken away.

"Where would you like your therapy session?" Snape inquired. "Here is fine, as is your room. I would prefer you did not visit the Hospital Wing. You could be overheard."  _And I'd rather definitely die than have the rest of the school think their Saviour is nutty_ , Harry thought, scrunching his nose.

"Will- will you be there?" He asked. Snape looked at him, a strange expression crossing his face.

"Would you like me to be?" Snape asked. Slowly, reluctantly, Harry nodded. He didn't know  _why_ , he just-

Well, Snape was a git and Madam Pomfrey definitely wasn't, she was really nice, but maybe with something like this, she was  _too_ nice. He didn't want to be treated like he was made of glass or fairy floss. Snape treated him, in general, like he'd always treated him, just without the petty cruelties and insults. It was still, recognisably,  _Snape_. 

Harry kind of liked that.

"After your therapy session, we also need to visit the Headmaster," Snape said, changing the subject.

"Why?" Harry asked in bewilderment. Snape's lips thinned.

"Lupin," he said. "And his  _behaviour_ during your lesson. He assured me that theory and practical would be separate, then he changed it on a whim. The Headmaster has  _warned_ him about these kinds of...situations, yet he apparently believes himself above the rules." Snape's lip curled.  _Wow_ , Harry thought.  _He_ really _hates Professor Lupin._

"But- I mean, I learnt the incantation and all, didn't I, so it's fine-" Harry still protested. Snape eyed him.

"You had to use your schedule to come back here," Snape said flatly. "It was not fine. Also, on that note, I've changed my mind about your Potions classes. You will spend them in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey or with a professor who has a spare class period."

"Er- why?" Harry asked.

"Because it was poorly thought out of me to insist you spend class time in the room you attempted suicide," Snape said bluntly. Harry felt his face heat. "I want you to feel  _better_ , Potter. You are highly unlikely to when confronted with the same environment you drank poison in."

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, remembering his prior unease when sitting next to Snape's desk. Although how Snape had picked up on it, he didn't know...

The fireplace flared green and Madam Pomfrey tumbled out, dusting off her robes and bestowing a fond smile on Harry.

"Hi, Harry," she said gently. "Have you felt all right today? No breathing difficulties?"

"I'm fine," he quickly said. He heard Snape snort in the background.

"Severus, where would you like us to..." Pomfrey trailed off. Snape inclined his head.

"Why don't you ask Potter?" He said coolly. "It's  _his_ appointment."

"And your rooms," the Mediwitch shot back.

"Here's fine," Harry blurted out, just wanting to get it over with. Fatigue kept creeping over him like a shroud. And wasn't that a morbid image, what was  _wrong_ with him?

 _Well, you're a freak, just ask the Dursleys, and oh, right, you tried to_ kill yourself, _that's a big one_... With a great effort, Harry wrenched his attention back to the scene playing out in front of him.

"Sit down, Harry," Madam Pomfrey requested. He obediently plopped down on the sofa, watching with silent relief as Snape took his customary armchair. Madam Pomfrey twirled her wand and conjured a chair out of thin air. It looked like it had been absolutely  _stuffed_ with very fluffy cushions.

"Now, I do have to apologise," Madam Pomfrey continued. "I am...not as trained a Mind Healer as those at St. Mungo's. If there was a way to safely take you there, I gladly would. But-"

"But I'm the Boy Who Lived," Harry finished bitterly. She winced a little, then nodded.

"Exactly," she said. "How do you feel about that, by the way?" Harry blankly stared at her.

"Er-" He said. She was asking about his  _feelings_? Over  _what_?

"How do you feel about being the Boy Who Lived?" The Mediwitch repeated patiently.

"I hate it," Harry said, ignoring Snape's slightly disbelieving expression. "It's bloody  _awful_. I don't want- I  _never_ wanted- This stupid, bloody scar is why I don't have my  _parents_ and everyone wants to congratulate me for it. Congratulate me for my parents dying. I know that isn't how they mean it and I'm- I'm glad my mum's love vanquished Vol- You-Know-Who or whatever, but it means my mum and dad are  _dead_ and I got stuck with my aunt, and she  _hates_ magic, and I just- If anyone thinks it's so bloody great to be famous, I wish I could just go ahead and  _give_ it to them." He stopped, breathing hard. Both Snape and Madam Pomfrey were staring at him.

"I just want my parents back," Harry said in a very weak voice and knuckled roughly at his eyes under his glasses. "That's how I feel about it."

"Interesting," Snape murmured. Harry thought he sounded vaguely shaken and wondered why.

"I'm glad you told me," Pomfrey said in an encouraging sort of way. Harry slumped into the sofa cushions.

This was going to take  _forever_ , wasn't it.


	17. retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape's pov again. :)

_That could have gone better,_ Severus reflected, staring down at the mutinous tilt of Potter's head. Poppy hadn't managed to get much more out of the boy, save a begrudging admission that his relatives were awful. After Potter's bitter words the other day about the Dursleys cheering him on in his suicide, Severus had suspected as much. If it weren't for the necessity of removing temptation (Severus had no illusions that the line of sight precautions were foolproof), he would have let the boy go to bed. As it was, however...

"Which would you prefer to do first?" Severus asked, once Poppy had disappeared back through the Floo. Potter looked up, startled, and Severus could see a suspicious shine in brilliant green eyes.

"What?" He asked dumbly. Severus bit back a sigh. Potter wasn't  _trying_ to be obstreperous.

"Would you prefer to visit the Headmaster first or retrieve the Angel's Trumpet Draught?" Severus clarified.

"Headmaster," Potter mumbled. Severus internally winced. He had an uneasy feeling about how  _prepared_ Potter was. That he had not only brewed the poison, but  _hidden_ it, just in case he lost access to his original dose. He had to admit that if he had found and confiscated the potion, he likely wouldn't have questioned if there was more. He would have assumed the boy had bought it somewhere. A dangerous habit to slip into, assumptions. And one he thought he'd left behind years ago. House divides vanished when it came to the crafty desperation of a suicidal student.

"Very well," Severus said. "We shall Floo to his office. Together," he emphasised, watching Potter's face fall. As if he would let the boy Floo on his own. He was still small enough that it wasn't even that tight a fit.

"Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts," he called into the green flames, stepping smoothly into them and dragging Potter with him. As the fireplace spit them both out in Albus's office, he heard Potter splutter and cough. Ashes coated the boy's face, making him look like he'd been playing chimney sweep. Severus sighed irritably and sent a cleaning spell at Potter's face.

"What brings you two to my office?" Albus inquired in a gentle voice. The twinkle in his eyes had returned slightly, but was still noticeably dimmer. It made Severus uncomfortable, seeing the effect of Potter's suicide attempt. Albus always looked a little unwell after one of his charges attempted to hurt themselves, but in  _this_ case, when he potentially shared the blame-

Severus could understand the worry hidden in those bright blue eyes.

"Lupin," Severus said shortly. "His lesson plans swore that theory and practise on Boggarts would be separate. I intended for Potter to be excused from the practical portion of the lesson, considering. Lupin decided to combine the two. Potter had to use his failsafe and escape to my quarters afterwards. That's why you had to take over for me."

"I see," Albus said. Severus could tell that the headmaster had expected a thinly veiled rant about the werewolf and that he'd just thrown the man for a loop. "I'll speak with him, Severus, about the importance of sticking to his lesson plans or informing you ahead of time."

"If he does it again, I'm excusing Potter from Defense for the next few weeks," Severus said crisply. Beside him, Potter's mouth fell open in protest, but he didn't say anything. "The potential detriment of falling behind doesn't compare to his mental health worsening."

"I'm right here, you know," Potter muttered, spots of colour flaring to life on his cheeks. Severus ignored him.

"I understand, Severus," Albus said, steepling his wrinkled fingers on the desk in front of him. "Please keep me updated. It was nice to see you today, Harry, though I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Potter nodded jerkily, his whole face flushing.

"Come then," Severus said. "I will Disillusion us both while you show me where you have hidden the rest of the Angel's Trumpet Draught." Potter's mouth twisted, but he nodded anyway. Severus tapped his wand on Potter's head, then on his own. He could see Potter and vice versa, but no one else would be able to.

"Erm, some of it is in my dorm," Potter admitted in a mumble.

"Let's retrieve that first then, shall we?" Severus said, letting Potter lead the way. Along the way, Potter stopped at no less than three hiding spots, tucked away in nooks and crannies. Without the boy's assistance, Severus doubted he'd even notice there was a ward there to inspect. His pockets clinked with collected vials as they slipped into Gryffindor Tower and made their way up the stairs.

Thankfully, none of the other third year boys were in the dormitory. Severus wasn't sure how he would have handled their reaction to Potter's belongings moving if they had been. As a precaution, he locked and warded the door so Potter could retrieve the poison without interference.

"I don't have all day, Potter," he said irritably when the boy froze in place for a moment. His voice made Potter jump and hurry to his trunk.

He offered up several more vials, green eyes wide and anxious behind their glasses. Severus accepted them grimly, settling them into his pocket. The unbreakable glass was cool against his fingers.

"Are there more in here?" Severus questioned. Potter hesitated, then reluctantly nodded, turning and snagging one from behind his pillow and one tangled up in Weasley's bed coverings. Severus's eyes widened in surprise when he saw that. The boy must have had a lot of faith in his warding abilities to allow such a potent poison anywhere near his best friend.

"Are there any more in Gryffindor Tower?" Severus pressed.

"One in the couch," Potter admitted. They collected it on their way out, dodging a group of fifth years who clearly had too much time on their hands, Severus thought with a scowl.

Potter had been clever, Severus had to admit nearly an hour later. He had placed them in such a way that if one location were to be discovered, he would still have quite the supply.  _Severus_ could see the ward, once he'd noticed the awkward, out-of-the-way places Potter had favoured, but he didn't think many other people would know how to get past it if they weren't a professor. Warding wasn't specifically taught at Hogwarts, it was usually outsourced. He wasn't quite sure how the boy had learned it, truthfully.

"This is the- the classroom I brewed in," Potter said, drawing Severus from his reverie. Severus looked around at the dusty tables and benches. An ordinary classroom. A small cauldron sat at the front of the room, where there was a space cleared off. There was relatively little detritus, coming from a miniature potions laboratory.

"This would have raised concern, Potter," Severus said stiffly. Potter looked up at him, obviously perplexed. "If you were brewing prank potions in here, there would be more  _stuff_. You would likely have things you kept here, for your next go. I don't know if the other staff members would have noticed, but I would."

"Oh," Potter said, stirring the dust on the floor around aimlessly with his toe.

"Potter," Severus said, capturing the boy's attention again. "I need you to tell me the truth. Are there any other vials of Angel's Trumpet Draught? Or any other potion?" Potter shook his head, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"No, sir," Potter said. "I- that's it." He cast a longing look at Severus's pocket.

"Very well then," Severus said heavily. "We shall return to my quarters, where you can do any homework you haven't finished."

"Yes, sir," Potter quietly said.

 

 


	18. nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! :)

Harry sat at the desk, absently playing with the end of his quill. Across from him, Snape graded first years' homework, scribbling red-inked notes in the margins. Every time Harry sneaked a peek, he could see copious lines of angular red script. He felt bad for the hapless student under Snape's fury.

He didn't know what had happened to the Angel's Trumpet Draught. If Snape had disposed of it. If the leftover vials still clinked in the pockets of his robes. Not that Harry could get at them if they were. What was he supposed to do, jump the man? Wait until he had a shower and rummage through his clothes? The thought gave him goosebumps.  _Gross_.

"Do you plan on actually  _working_ tonight, Potter?" Snape asked him pointedly, making him jump in his chair.

"Erm," he said, flushing to the roots of his hair. "I-"

"Perhaps it would be better for you to go to bed," Snape suggested, laying down his own quill.

"Can I take a sleeping potion?" Harry blurted out. He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Like Snape would actually  _do_ it. Or listen to why he wanted one. He knew that he should just...deal with it. It didn't matter. It was stupid.

But the clink of glass, imagined or not, was the most painful siren song Harry had ever heard.

"Yes," Snape said, and Harry's mouth fell open. "It's not uncommon to have difficulty sleeping, Potter," Snape added, nearly sounding cross now. "I can't give it to you too many days in a row, however. It's habit-forming."

"Okay," Harry said, dazed. Snape stood and Harry followed, feeling rather like a worn-down automaton as he went to the loo (he would  _never_ get used to Snape's presence), brushed his teeth, and changed into the regulation pyjamas. As he climbed into the bed, Snape summoned a thin vial from what Harry presumed to be his stores. The sleeping potion was such a dark blue, it was nearly black, and the colour made Harry feel oddly relieved.

"Here," Snape said.

It tasted like the foggy scent of rain, and it made Harry's nose wrinkle. Snape offered a glass of water right after, and Harry gratefully sipped some.

"I'd like back if I were you," Snape warned. "It hits rather suddenly."

Harry opened his mouth to say good night when he slumped back against the pillow, the sleeping potion already dragging him under.

He dreamed. He dreamed he was in a glass vial, one with smooth glass sides, and an impossible-to-reach cork, way up at the top. All around him, he could see his fellow students, larger than life, bustling around and doing whatever they pleased, while he stood, tiny and trapped. He rapped his fist against the glass as hard as he could, but nothing happened. He just heard a dull clink, the same as the vials of confiscated Angel's Trumpet Draught in Snape's pocket, and then to his eternal horror, the vial tipped over and he could see a cobblestone floor, waiting for him to splatter across it-

"Potter,  _wake up_ -"

Harry woke, gasping for breath. Soft amber light filled the room and Professor Snape stood by his bed. He'd obviously come from bed himself, as he had a green-and-silver robe tied around himself.

"I'm sorry," Harry stammered. "I didn't- I mean-"

"You didn't cry out if that's what you're concerned about," Snape said. "One of the wards on this room alerts me when you're having bad dreams or difficulties sleeping. Do you-" He hesitated. "You can talk about it, if you wish."

Harry  _didn't_ but at the same time, paranoia gripped his spine, whispering that he would find himself in the vial if he didn't talk about it, that he'd wake up in the morning and he'd be lost forever in a smooth glass prison...

"I was in a vial," he said. "It- it had a cork in it. I was tiny and I could see everyone going past me, regular-sized, and nobody noticed, and I couldn't get out- When I tried, I just made it fall over and it was gonna fall on the floor-" He flushed red to his hairline. It sounded so  _stupid_ when he put it like that.

"Bad dreams are bad dreams, Potter, no matter how foolish our waking mind may find them," Snape murmured, settling into a chair next to Harry's bedside. "Considering the events of last night, I do not find it surprising you would dream something similar."

"I- I thought the sleeping potion would help," Harry muttered, plucking at the blankets bunched up around his waist.

"That particular one helps you fall asleep, but it does not help with dreams," Snape informed him. "For that, you would need Dreamless Sleep, which is even more habit-forming. I am willing to let you have it under strict supervision, but you cannot have it tonight, not after the regular sleeping potion."

"Figures," Harry grumbled.

"Have you ever heard of Occlumency?" Snape suddenly asked. Harry shook his head. "It is more complicated than I believe your mind is capable of processing at the moment,  but the beginning steps may help you."

"What are they?" Harry asked, ignoring the dig at his brain capacity. He was exhausted enough that Snape was probably right, anyway.

"Clearing your mind," Snape said brusquely. "Get comfortable, then I want you to close your eyes and just listen to me. Understood?"

"Okay," Harry said, a bone-cracking yawn interrupting the one-word reply. He had no expectations that anything Snape thought was a good idea would work, but to his surprise, his eyelids grew heavy almost immediately and he drifted off to the sound of Snape's even, low-voiced cadence.

When he woke up in the morning, he couldn't remember any more dreams. The only proof Snape had ever visited him in the early morning hours lay in the chair, still pulled up to his bedside.

Breakfast passed much the same as the previous day's. Snape handed him a new schedule, one that outlined the Hospital Wing instead of the Potions classroom.

"You are still welcome to use the schedule like you did yesterday," Snape told him. "Just tap it and you will be brought here. I've modified it so it also informs Madam Pomfrey in case I am unable to get away straight off. I also found this prudent-" Snape handed him another piece of parchment. When Harry unfolded it, he discovered that Snape had copied over Professor Lupin's class schedule.

"If he deviates from this, I want you to inform me as soon as possible," Snape instructed. He had that weird, avid glitter in his eyes again, the one that made Harry's stomach squirm.

"O-okay," Harry said, folding up the paper and putting it in his bag. It seemed to satisfy Snape anyway, for he turned back to finish his breakfast.

"In the evenings, I will tutor you in the Potions theory you are missing," Snape added. "Eat more." Harry flushed, looking down at his oatmeal and hastily spooning up another mouthful. 

"You are allowed to have your friends over in the evening to study," Snape said. "But no roughhousing. You are not allowed outside without an adult chaperone. Hagrid does not count."

"Why not?" Harry protested.

"Hagrid does not possess a wand," Snape bit out. " _Legally speaking_ , anyway." Harry remembered the half-giant's pink umbrella and wondered. "While I have no doubt he could protect you from anything that resides in the Forbidden Forest, I am far less sanguine about his ability to protect you from  _yourself_."

"Oh," Harry said weakly. He wasn't sure he  _agreed_ with Snape-

But it  _was_ true that Hagrid didn't really have a wand he could  _use_ and Harry didn't know how important that might be in watching over him. If he tried to drown himself, would the lack of a wand really  _matter_? 

"Finish your breakfast," Snape said, interrupting the morbid turn of his thoughts. "You have Potions first thing, which means I will be dropping you off at the Hospital Wing. Would you prefer we walk or go by Floo?"

"Erm- Floo, I guess?" Harry said hesitantly. Snape nodded and stood up, robes billowing around him. Harry wondered if there was a spell you could use to mimic that. It  _had_ to be a spell, right?

"Let's go then," Snape said. Harry found himself tucked against the man's chest like a toddler as Snape threw Floo powder into the flames and shouted out their destination.

"The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts!"

 


End file.
